


Carry Me Home (I Thought We Had More Time)

by runicmagitek



Series: Burn the Witch [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coming of Age, Daddy Issues, Drama, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon, Sexual Content, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 06:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: Before the forests beckoned for her aid and fate marked her with magic, there was a girl trying to live an ordinary life. But Rinoa was never meant for mundane structure; she was meant to break free and fly. And it's only a matter of time before she figures out how to spread her wings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _And if you see my friend_   
>  _I thought I would again_   
>  _A single, thin, straight line_   
>  _[I thought we had more time](https://youtu.be/ws_wqrTifcg) _   
> 

She had never heard this song before.

Music accompanied Rinoa wherever she went—from children melodies to orchestral symphonies—thanks to her mother. Every time Julia retired to the parlor, she sat before an aged grand piano. There, she played songs of her own. Her CD collection was convenient, but to experience music live was forever a moment Rinoa relished. The songs varied, depending on Julia’s mood, and Rinoa memorized them all, bumbling out half-lyrics while shuffling and spinning about the room in unison with her mother.

But this one? This one was new, yet Julia played like one greeted an old friend, separated only by time and distance. Rinoa peeked into the parlor, eyes wide with curiosity.

Julia was an exemplary image of ideal posture, yet she slumped over the keys with a heavy head. Quiet notes trickled into the room. To Rinoa, it was beautiful. She found splendor in life’s smallest pleasures, like the flickering flames upon candles. Time and time again, Julia cautioned Rinoa of deceiving appearances.

“ _Sometimes the most beautiful ones,_ ” Julia had said, “ _are the meanest inside._ ”

Rinoa pouted. “ _I don_ _’t want to be mean._ ”

Julia chuckled. “ _You_ _’re far from mean, sweetie._ ” And she kissed the top of her head before rubbing noses with Rinoa. “ _But you_ are _beautiful. On the inside and outside. Never forget that._ ”

And as her mother performed the new melody, Rinoa caught the sadness in Julia’s eyes, mirrored in the nostalgic desolation. A part of Rinoa longed to dive into her usual dancing antics, though as that smile faded, she wished for nothing more than to join her mother on the bench and hug her.

Before she tip-toed into the parlor, Julia’s lips parted to bring life to the song.

“You know where to find me if you think it’s all over. I can sense it a mile off; it’s no friendly hello. You could be screaming drunk... well, I’ve got my bad days, too. I’m gonna be here for you. Be still with me.”

Julia continued to sing, her voice lacking the richness and polish Rinoa was accustomed to. Rinoa hung onto the lyrics as best she could, but its meaning slipped past her tiny hands and vanished. It didn’t stop her, however, from entering the parlor.

She didn’t dance or hum along; Rinoa stood behind her mother with bright eyes. Awe silenced her tongue. A crescendo came and went, leaving an ending which reminded Rinoa of the rain calming down after a violent storm. And with the final fermata, Julia froze.

A massive sigh sifted through Julia. Her hands fell from the keys before she buried her face in her trembling palms. Rinoa tilted her head and blinked. Not a sound left either the piano or Julia.

Rinoa shuffled closer. “Mommy?” Nothing. “Mommy?” She reached out to Julia. “Mommy, are you—”

A tiny hand patted Julia’s back and a sharp breath hitched in her throat as if a dagger sunk into her. Julia whipped around. Her taut features eased once her eyes settled on Rinoa.

“Oh, sweetie,” Julia spoke with a slight jitter. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Julia blinked and Rinoa swore the light highlighted tears.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

With an inhale, Julia regained composure and offered a smile Rinoa came to love. “No,” she said, tender as always, “Mommy’s not crying.”

“But... I thought you _were_ crying.”

“Not one bit.”

Julia bent forward to pick up Rinoa, who giggled and swayed her legs in her air. Once settled in her mother’s lap, Rinoa craned her head back.

“What were you playing, Mommy?”

The smile faltered. “Hmmm?”

Rinoa bounced in her lap. “Is it a new one?”

“No,” Julia responded after a pause, “it’s not.”

Rinoa scrunched up her face. “But I’ve never _heard_ it before! You told me you play all of your songs for me.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Julia chuckled. “Hmm... well, this is sort of... a secret song for Mommy.”

“A secret?” Rinoa gasped.

Julia nodded. “A special song.”

“Is it on a see-dee, Mommy?”

Another pause. “No, not this one.”

“But why not?”

Julia’s listless gaze glossed over the piano. The silence pained Rinoa more than the hollowness once present in the notes.

“I wrote this one for myself,” Julia murmured. “It wasn’t meant to be played on stage, sweetie.”

Rinoa struggled to comprehend Julia. Her mother wrote plenty of songs for various reasons: for love, for happiness, for freedom. There had yet to be one in the discography like this one, however.

“Is it... about Daddy?”

Julia’s eyes snapped down to Rinoa, but her face softened after a breath. “No.”

Rinoa’s mouth hung ajar while the tiny gears in her head churned. Nothing clicked, thus the little girl furrowed her brow.

“But—”

“How about we make it our little secret, Rinoa? A song for just you and me?”

It made no sense. Why would someone create something beautiful and not wish to share it with the world? Everyone loved her mother and in turn, her music. Did she worry people would hate it? How could anyone hate those lovely songs?

The very thought made Rinoa pout.

“Oh, sweetie.” Julia cupped her cheek and brought Rinoa’s gaze up to meet hers. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want people to hate you, Mommy,” Rinoa mumbled, unable to maintain eye contact.

In a fluid motion, Julia swept her arms around Rinoa for a tender hug. She rocked back and forth, kissing her temple.

“Sweetie, why would you think that? No one hates Mommy. Daddy loves Mommy very much and I’m sure you love me, too.” Rinoa nodded into her mother. “See? We all love each other. And we especially love _you_ , Rinoa. Don’t you ever forget that.” She nuzzled into Rinoa’s face until they both smiled. “Mommy and Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“But... what about you? Who is going to keep bad things from happening to you?”

Julia didn’t respond immediately, but the smile remained all the while. “I’m sure someone is looking out for me.”

“Like Daddy?”

“Mmhmm. And you.” She poked Rinoa’s nose.

Rinoa giggled and swatted the finger away. “Mommy! Mommy! I can be your knight! I’ll keep you safe!”

The stories of sorceresses and knights weren’t present in any children’s book lined in Rinoa’s library; they came from her mother. She weaved bedtime fairy tales for Rinoa once she was tucked in with a tonberry plushie. Those were Rinoa’s favorite. Each night, she pleaded for Julia to tell her another one. A new one. Creativity sparked to life in her mother’s mind as she told stories which lulled Rinoa to sleep and granted her fantastic dreams.

For they were just that—a surreal fantasy. Other girls might have wanted to become princesses, but Rinoa longed for the life of adventure and innate magic. It was romantic, in a sense, and Julia never deterred Rinoa away from those fantasies.

“But I’m no sorceress, sweetie,” Julia reminded her. “That’s what a knight’s duty is.”

Rinoa processed her mother’s words, only to light up. “I’m a different kind of knight!”

“Are you, now?”

“Yup!” Rinoa faced the piano. “I protect... music!” With extended fingers, Rinoa mashed several keys. “And you play music, so... I get to protect Mommy!”

Julia giggled in her ear. “That’s rather kind of you, sweetie. Though I think for now, you don’t have to worry about protecting Mommy.”

Rinoa continued to poke at the keys, each note an amateurish sound mixed in chaos. In time, Julia slid Rinoa onto the bench beside her.

“How about we play together?” Julia inquired.

Rinoa gasped. “Can it be another lesson?!”

“It can be, if you’d like.”

Music lessons with Julia rivaled with finger painting. Since the melodies seeping out of the grand piano entranced Rinoa, Julia offered lessons so that one day, Rinoa could play on her own. Rinoa practiced the C major scale with tiny, staccato notes. She recalled four measures of a melody, complete with a handful of chords. Outside of that, Rinoa’s attention span wavered and dissolved.

Julia taught not from music sheets, but from memory, though Rinoa struggled to keep the pace with her mother. While she instructed with composed, lithe fingers, Rinoa banged her hand along the keys and laughed at the discord. Julia never scolded her—simply wore a jaded smile and proceeded.

And when Rinoa flat out ceased to listen, Julia drew in a breath and widened her smile. “How about we do something different?”

Rinoa wiggled. “Like what?”

“Like I play something and you dance for Mommy.”

She didn’t need to suggest it twice. Rinoa crawled off the bench to hurry to the middle of the room. She slid along the tiled floor in her socks, giggling when she regained balance.

“Mommy! Mommy! Play the song about the eyes!”

“You like that one, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm!” Rinoa twirled in place. “It’s my favorite!”

Without another word, Julia turned center, lengthened her spine, and moved her hands about the keys. The piano’s luxurious notes emerged within the parlor once more and echoed through the halls. Rinoa spun and skipped in the open space, lost in the music with her own interpretive dance. And when her mother sang the words she forever adored, Rinoa hummed along, sometimes joining in with the sections she knew.

She could have danced forever if she wanted. But her legs eventually tired and her stomach growled and her eyes drooped and her mother would call it a day, despite Rinoa’s whining. Until Julia said otherwise, Rinoa moved with the music without a care for the time which slipped by.

For to her, it stood still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The song](https://youtu.be/GP2ytfsoddc) I imagined Julia playing


	2. Chapter 2

Rain cascaded down the tall windows within the parlor. Thunder rolled in the distance. Rinoa curled up by one of the windows with her cheek smooshed against the glass. Through the rippling sheets of water lied Deling City—mere fractured lights lost in the storm. She eyed the streets and waited for a car to turn into the driveway. No one even drove by the mansion.

Julia was to be home late. She said so over the phone. Something about the rain congesting the urban streets and slowing everyone down. But there was a promise of music when Julia left that morning; she intended to record them in the studio. That meant new CDs in Rinoa’s room along with fresh melodies in the parlor.

“ _I promise I_ _’ll play you a few when I’m home,_ ” Julia had told Rinoa.

But Rinoa longed to accompany her mother to the elusive studio. Anything to witness her mother in her element. Frustration contorted Rinoa’s face; she couldn’t play the piano like Julia. Not yet. Maybe one day, or so her mother insisted. With a sigh, she dragged her knees into her chest and watched the rain consume the world.

 

* * *

 

Rinoa shoved unwanted veggies about her plate with a fist propping up her cheek. Fury cleared his throat once and Rinoa reluctantly removed her elbow from the table and sat up tall, like a lady, or so she was told. More like beaten into her head. But her father’s abrupt disapproval was the first sound to crack the silence residing in the dining room. Rinoa held back a yawn; she needed to stay awake, for when Julia arrived, then they could play music in the parlor.

She promised, just as Fury promised Julia would be home momentarily.

With sleepy eyes, she gazed to the empty seat at the end of the table with a plate of untouched food. Julia loved chicken, too. It would be cold by the time she sat down to enjoy it.

“She’ll be home soon,” Fury interrupted her thoughts.

“But _when_ , Daddy?”

“Soon.”

Not soon enough. Rinoa hated that answer. How could he utter such a thing when he was always the first to remind Rinoa of his distaste for tardiness? Soon meant uncertainty. Soon meant the unknown.

After managing half of dinner and outright refusing dessert, Rinoa excused herself to the parlor. Flicking the lights on, the golden glow washed over the vicinity. Rinoa smiled at the spectacle. She giggled and twirled towards the piano. In the back of her head, Julia’s voice rang with caution. Rinoa slowed down, carefully unveiling the piano keys and dragging the bench out.

Sitting center, Rinoa eyed the countless black and white keys. A devious grin pulled at her features as she smashed her open palms into them, laughing with the nonsensical sound. Such fun lasted but minutes.

It wasn’t her mother’s music. It didn’t feel right.

So she played the first measures of the eye song, the one she loved. Julia’s motions were fluid, smoother than silk, and created a sound richer than the yummiest of desserts. When Rinoa played, it was like a child tripping over their first steps. She frowned and struggled with the notes. This wasn’t music; this was more an insult to her mother’s creation than a compliment.

Julia’s guidance resurfaced in Rinoa’s mind. With a deep breath, she straightened her back and relaxed her hands. But her arms weren’t long enough and her fingers slipped into other keys and her feet couldn’t reach the pedals and none of it sounded right.

Scrunching up her face, Rinoa slammed a single fist into the keys before crossing her arms. It wasn’t fun without her mother. No one there to guide her or to ease the frustrations which came with learning. The song burned into Rinoa’s memory for all eternity, but duplicating the melody left her mind and fingers frozen.

She stared at the piano, unmoving. The once violent rain softened to a pitter-patter by the time Rinoa retired from the parlor. Shuffling towards the doorway, she skidded to a halt upon recognizing her father’s voice in the hallway. Rinoa peeked around the corner and found Fury on the phone. Interrupting him while on the phone was far more serious than elbows on the table—something about business stuff being important and what not. No luck convincing him to play with her, either. Frowning, she slinked back into the parlor, turned off the lights, and curled up by the window.

The sun faded, but the night was illuminated by the city itself. Rinoa perked up each time a car drove by the estate, only to sigh when they continued down the road.

_She_ _’ll be here soon,_ Rinoa thought with every passing car.

Her eyelids dared to fall shut, but her father’s voice down the hall snapped her awake. He spoke in a rush, then silence fell. Rinoa climbed down from her perch and traveled out into the hallway.

Fury’s regal posture and crisp uniforms etched into him, regardless if he was amongst military peers or family. As Rinoa approached him, she found her father braced against a wall. He offered single, curt words as responses over the phone, his voice cracking.

Rinoa’s eyes widened. Fury never noticed her, even when the call ended, even when she tugged his pants. His eyes only fell when she clung to his leg.

“Daddy?” Her voice was but a soft squeak. “What’s wrong?”

And when he told her, Rinoa wished she had never asked.

 

* * *

 

They showed up by the gates. Only a handful of people, at first, but by noontime, a crowd lined outside the Caraway mansion. Vivid bouquets flourished against black attires. Framed pictures nestled against the asphalt. The flowers piled there beside lit candles until the photographs were buried.

Security thinned out the swarm come sunset. Please allow the Caraway family some space, was what they said. Strangers on radio stations echoed the sentiment—please respect their privacy. From her bedroom window, Rinoa lost track of those who continued to arrive at the gates. More flowers decorated the metal barrier separating the public from the mansion. None of them smiled. Some cried, some hugged others. All of them left with their heads hung low.

Despite the flood of visitors, the interior remained immaculate as always, albeit with flowers. The sight alone left Rinoa in awe. Did so many flowers truly exist? She couldn’t count the endless blossoms even if she tried. Fury _did_ remind her not to touch them, for they were gifts and thus not hers. Instead, Rinoa sniffed as many as possible, either humming with delight or sneezing from the aromas. She loved them all.

It was all the black she didn’t care for.

Her father picked out several outfits for her, each one drowned in the drab hue. She slipped on black dresses with black headbands adorning her hair. She walked in black shoes which clicked against the wood floors—just like Julia’s high heels. Rinoa even had a little black purse. What for, she didn’t know.

“Young ladies love purses,” he offered, tucking every last strand of hair behind her ears and smoothing out wrinkles even Rinoa couldn’t find.

She fidgeted with her headband. “What do I put in it, Daddy?”

Fury clenched his jaw while fixing her hair—a bit more forceful this time around. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Her mother had a purse. Rinoa loved exploring through it, though she couldn’t recall the particular knick-knacks. _Something that makes me happy_ , Rinoa repeated.

Turning the purse over in her hands, Rinoa never placed anything inside.

What was worse than her outfits was when more people in black arrived. Faces she didn’t recognize, all with similar solemn stares. They shook Fury’s hand, said hello to Rinoa, complimented her purse, and apologized for what happened.

But none of it was their fault. Why were they sorry?

They all stood around, speaking with one another in hushed voices while a picture of Julia sat in the middle of the foyer. There were no more flowers burying her mother’s image; they were long gone. Candles surrounded Julia’s smiling visage, but her joyful face outshone every flickering flame in the mansion.

Fury kept Rinoa by his side as people filed up to them. She swayed back and forth, not even entertained by the twirl in her dress.

“Oh, how lovely you look, sweetheart!” some had said to her.

“You look so grown up!”

“So cute! Look at that matching purse!”

Rinoa wanted it to end.

Another function took place and another black dress draped her bed. She longed to scream and throw it across the room, but she also wished to evade another lecture from her father about how this wasn’t about _her_.

“ _Stop being selfish,_ ” she could hear him say.

There was no solace in the company of old friends and family members before a casket. Piano music rang through. Not Julia’s, but someone else’s. Rinoa eyed the painted ceiling, covered with winged women and fluffy clouds. Everyone meandered about the strange house, exchanging hushed words or embraces. There were flowers there, too, much like the first time, though the warmth from their colors did little to raise spirits.

All those present cried. Some welcomed the tears in silence while others doubled over in hysteria. Rinoa eyed her father; his face remained dry as he stared at a wall amidst a conversation.

Surely it had to be the end. Rinoa hoped it was. But their car never brought them home, instead traveling outside of the city. Along with a pack of cars, they arrived at a patch of land with a smattering with stone slabs. Rinoa squinted at the names marked on each one.

“Daddy, what is this?” she asked.

“This is a cemetery.”

“Oh. Okay.” She ignored her fluttering heart. “Daddy, what’s a cemetery?”

He never answered.

In comparison to their previous location, a thinned out group gathered around a particular grave looming over a deep hole—the perfect shape for the casket beside it. A familiar casket, at that. Tears flowed freely from those sad eyes. Even Fury’s glossed over. Not a tear marred Rinoa’s face. She stared at the casket as it was lowered into the earth to be covered up. Her father explained all of this on the car ride over. She already forgot the name of what was happening, but he promised there would be more flowers to decorate the surface once it was done. And there were—dozens upon dozens of them.

But flowers wilted over time—nothing ever brought them back.

Julia didn’t need all of this. Everyone spoke similar words to Rinoa: Mommy was sleeping and couldn’t wake up. That was silly. Rinoa knew better than all of them that a running jump into bed was enough to wake her mother. Who would even _want_ to stay asleep forever? Nap time was the worst when all she longed to do was play, but an eternity of sleep? What if Julia encountered nightmares? Who would save her from them? She needed to wake up and play more music. She needed to have her chicken dinners she loved so much.

She needed to come home.

“Daddy?” Rinoa asked, finally alone after everyone else departed. “Is... Mommy ever going to wake up?”

He didn’t respond immediately, nor did he eye her. “No.”

That word came up far too often in Rinoa’s life for her liking. _No_ to cookies, _no_ to another toy for her collection, _no_ to staying up late, _no_ to running down hallways, _no_ to helping with dinner. Always _no_.

She gazed over the gravestone; the words freshly etched in the stone were foreign, but she recognized the letters which made up her mother’s name. “But....” Her eyes fell to the mound before the grave. “But why not? What if she has bad dreams?” Nothing. “Who... who will wake her up when it gets scary?” Still silence. “Daddy.” This time, Rinoa reached out to tug on his arm. “Why—”

“Rinoa, she’s dead.”

Dead. She heard this word before. Or she thought she did. Some boys screamed it during their games of war whenever she and Julia visited a friend. Rinoa played along, imitating gunshots while aiming her fingers at them. Those games ended in laughter. And then there were the endless stories about the sorceresses, always a favorite of Rinoa’s come bedtime. A sorceress was eternal and couldn’t die, though in order to rest when they no longer wished to live, they had to bestow their magical gifts to another, so the magic could live on.

But this wasn’t a game nor was her mother a sorceress.

“Dead?” Rinoa echoed. Again, Fury said nothing. His eyes cast elsewhere. “Is she... not sleeping, Daddy?”

“She was never sleeping.”

Her hand clung to his arm, yet it did little to stabilize her. “What happened?”

Fury spoke of a fatal car crash and what it meant to die. Nothing painted a peaceful place where Julia floated off to once severed from the physical world; she was but a lifeless body rotting in the ground. Nothing more.

The sun beat down upon them. Not a cloud blotted the sky. The occasional breeze sifted through colorful flowers and trees. People retreated from their homes to bask in such warmth. Nothing radiated within Rinoa—only a hollow chill chewed her up. Tears blurred her eyes until she surrendered to them. Her sobs echoed past the open skies, never dying once they returned to the mansion. There, she curled up beneath the grand piano.

All she yearned for was the beautiful melodies from the instrument. If only she knew how to bring them back.


	3. Chapter 3

Plenty of changes circulated through the mansion; Rinoa simply wished to ignore them.

Julia’s absence marked the obvious occurrence. No, not an absence—dead. Not sleeping peacefully, not elsewhere lost in her own devices—simply and utterly dead, never to return. Little comforted Rinoa when glaring death in the eye. People said Julia was in a better place now. But compared to what? Compared to the home she lived in? Compared to being with her family?

Compared to creating music?

Then there were those who claimed it was meant to be—that it was in everyone’s best interest to cherish the memories of Julia’s vibrant life instead of wallowing in woe. Maybe there was truth hidden behind that. Mourning wasn’t permanent, or so the adults explained. There would come a point when she’d continue living her life like nothing happened.

Rinoa waited for that moment. After days, weeks, and months passed by, she wondered if it would ever come.

Julia’s demise echoed throughout the mansion. It was in the empty chair at the end of the dinner table. It was in the silence within the parlor. It was in the words never spoken again by her father.

Together with Julia, they showered love upon Rinoa. Now she was lucky if he tucked her in at night along with a bedtime kiss. No more stories, no more lullabies. Rinoa learned to stop asking for them.

Fury’s tense, quiet nature was but a scratch on the surface. He opted for extra hours of work instead of tending to their home and thus Rinoa. She met plenty of odd faces attempting to replace the void meant for a parent while Fury was gone. In time, they lasted several weeks tops before storming out and throwing away the job opportunity. Each one left on different circumstances, but the catalyst remained the same—Rinoa.

They spoke of her rebellious, reluctant nature ranging from refusing to go to bed on time to neglecting their homemade meals for her to outright ignoring her superiors.

“You’re not my Mommy!” was the most common phrase she shrieked in their faces.

And with each new caretaker entering the mansion, Rinoa swallowed back her resentful tears. Julia was never coming home. No one to sweep Rinoa into their arms, beyond tender and loving, and pepper her cheeks in kisses. She hid under the piano after screaming matches with another stranger feigning compassion, wishing to simultaneously to be alone and not.

The quitting streak reached double digits. Not that Rinoa kept count, but Fury did. His previous lectures revolved around elbows on the table and slouching in chairs, none of which were proper for a young lady. Those days were long gone.

“You need to grow up,” he snapped. “This isn’t a game, Rinoa. These people are here to look out for you. All you’re doing is making their jobs far more difficult.”

“But I don’t want them to look out for me!”

“Then perhaps if you weren’t so childish, I wouldn’t be concerned with hiring another person to keep an eye on you.”

Rinoa jutted her lower lip out. “Why can’t _you_ look out for—”

“Rinoa, we’ve _had_ this discussion. Daddy is busy with work—”

“You never were before.”

“And times change. I have more on my plate and you need to behave like a young lady, do you understand? I will _not_ tolerate you running amok in this household, for if another caretaker leaves due to your behavior, I’ll be sure to find a soldier to look out for you in their place.”

Soldiers had only frequented the mansion during holiday parties. They lacked a sense of humor and tolerated Rinoa at best. The thought of being stuck with one day after day lowered Rinoa’s head and stilled her tongue.

Fury knelt down and caught her eyes. “No more goofing around. Do I make myself clear, young lady?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Except he didn’t, though she didn’t dare question him. How was she to be mature _and_ not childish at the mere age of six?

Being a young lady sucked.

She lost more than a mother that day; she lost the man she once loved as her father, too. When was the last time he smiled or hugged her? Was he happy with paying someone else to do all of that for him? The distance between them expanded like an abyss.

Yet she still convinced herself to call him Daddy.

 

* * *

 

It was gradual, over the course of several years. The family pictures once adorning every corner of the mansion vanished: toddler snapshots of Rinoa, the overly staged holiday photographs, and the forever smiling face of Julia. All gone. Maybe one of the maids was cleaning them elsewhere or they were in a new location or someone stole them in the night. Rinoa fidgeted with each scenario popping into her mind. No one noticed but her.

Then Fury’s prized possessions disappeared. Not all of them, but specific ones. Rinoa gave no second thoughts to the gaudy paintings and ornate silverware removed from the premise, but she remembered his favorite cuff links and ties were all gifts—gifts from Julia.

And her mother’s possessions went missing, from her clothing to her CD collection to her vanity stand. Rinoa clutched the small jewelry box Julia once bestowed her with. No one could pry it away from her.

Though she would have given away all of it if it meant the piano would stay.

Movers shuffled in, their boisterous voices cracking through the mansion with plans to remove the grand piano. Her eyes widened and her heart plummeted to her stomach. Abandoning her activities, she rushed to the parlor just in time to find them hauling the instrument up from the floor.

Stomping towards them with balled-up fists and a scrunched-up face, Rinoa yelled, “You can’t take this!”

One of them raised an eyebrow and lowered his end of the piano. “Kid, we got a job to do. Your dad paid us to get rid of this—”

“Get _rid_ of it?!” Rinoa confronted the man like she was prepared to initiate a bar brawl. “It belongs to us!”

“Not anymore.”

When they worked on lifting the piano again, Rinoa scrambled onto the closed keys and sprawled out. The additional weight left the men cursing before settling it down.

“ _I_ still want it!” Rinoa cried with a furious glare. “It’s mine as much as it was my Mom’s!”

The movers all eyed one another, the one clearly in charge sighing with a shake of his head. He gestured for the others to exit the room with him. With every last one out, Rinoa lifted her head and tucked dark hair behind her ear. A smile crept upon her lips; she was triumphant.

But her victory was short and sweet. Heavy boots boomed into the room. Rinoa gasped; she had never witnessed her father so livid.

“Rinoa!” His voice ricocheted off the walls, louder than the piano ever was. “Get _down_ this _very_ instance!”

She froze. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of sheer reluctance. She awaited Fury’s typical counting to three to insist she followed the rules— _his_ rules—but Rinoa was older now, albeit still a child. He never entertained her with such trickery.

He latched onto her waist and ripped her away from the grand piano. Rinoa hissed in air, longing to kick and flail; the thought of potentially damaging the piano restrained her. Fury continued to lock her against him upon bringing her to the floor and her whines morphed into desperate shrieks once the movers returned to the piano.

“No!” Rinoa cried out, jerking her head about. “I don’t want them to take it!”

Fury spun her around. A soft yelp jutted out of Rinoa. Solid hands slammed onto her shoulders and cemented her in place. She met her father’s stare, those eyes of his burning. Neither love nor compassion humored his features—not for Rinoa nor Julia’s piano.

“Are you trying to make this more difficult for everyone?!” Fury demanded.

“I don’t want Mom’s piano to be thrown into a junkyard!” Rinoa spat back.

Fury tilted his head. “And what exactly were _you_ planning on doing with it? For the past three years, you’ve done nothing but hide underneath it. You’re not a baby anymore, Rinoa. When will you ever learn to grow up and move on?!”

“I’m sorry I’m not like _you_ and can throw out everything she ever touched!”

His fingers curled into her shoulders like talons securing prey, yet Rinoa didn’t falter.

“It’s a waste of space, Rinoa. We don’t need it anymore. Last time I checked, you weren’t turning into a budding musician, so unless you plan to change that, then I suggest you let the movers do their job and let it be.”

She jerked free from his clutches, whipped around, and held her breath. The movers maneuvered the piano out the doorway. If only she could play it, then maybe it wouldn’t be hauled out of the mansion. Rinoa barely recalled the C Major scale. Every last one of those memories was tainted by Julia’s face and voice.

Thus Rinoa said nothing. The piano slipped out of sight and her father’s hold on her loosened.

“You need to move forward,” Fury continued. His voice dropped in volume, yet the threatening tone lingered. “You can’t spend your whole life dwelling on the past.” There was a pause and then, “Julia would have wanted it this way.”

Rinoa fashioned her glare for Fury like daggers. “ _This_ way? You mean by burning everything to the ground?”

“Rinoa—”

“Did you even _know_ Mom? She would have _never_ wanted us to forget her. We can’t erase her, Dad!”

With a single step, Fury loomed over Rinoa. “I knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t want us to be in pain. That much is certain.”

“Well... I’m not in pain because of her,” Rinoa sneered. “I’m in pain because _you_ act like she never existed.”

Before he uttered another word, Rinoa pivoted on her heels and ran out. She zipped past the movers and up the elaborate staircase in search for haven within her room. There, she could lock the door and breathe again. There, Fury couldn’t touch the relics once belonging to Julia.

A collection of pictures sat on dressers and nightstands alike. Rinoa was far tinier then, but everyone—including Fury—smiled in those photos. And there were the concert posters from her mother and the framed vinyl records—all of them signed. A small jewelry box contained all the gems and precious metals her mother passed onto her with the promise that one day she’d be old enough to find a use for them. All the stuffed animals her mother ever gave her sprawled across her bed. All the birthday cards, all the notes, all the reminders of what once existed.

How could she possibly get rid of any of it?

“So stupid,” Rinoa mumbled into a pillow she clung to. “Why can’t you just understand that _this_ is what helps me. I’m not you.”

She blinked, unaware of the tears which flowed down her face. A chill crawled up her body, forcing Rinoa to draw her knees into her chest. She buried her face in the pillow, fearing if she squeezed any harder, it would burst.

“I will _never_ be you.”

 

* * *

 

She didn't want to remove the items at first. Doing so meant _he_ won, in a sense, but Rinoa reminded herself over and over that she wasn’t destroying it all. It was to be hidden out of sight to create the illusion of her separation from mourning. Sometimes fighting wasn’t the answer; sometimes coming to terms with another—especially the one in charge of the roof she was under—meant caving in. Rinoa loathed that.

But it also meant Fury was never laying a finger on the mementos from her mother.

Rinoa placed everything she could into bins to stash away under her bed and in the back of her closet. Her room laid bare and foreign once she stripped it of everything associated with Julia. It left Rinoa nauseous, yet she swallowed it down.

When Fury first walked into her room since its renovations, he halted and paused mid-sentence. Rinoa lifted her gaze from a book she was absorbed in and noticed his shifting eyes. He never mentioned the changes, but his posture lengthened and his face relaxed. In turn, she never humored him with the topic. Or anything relevant to Julia.

Or simply anything at all ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

Music might not have ever been her forte, but creativity still coursed through Rinoa’s veins. It flourished out of boredom to replace lecture notes with whimsical doodles. In between margins of her journals, she found solace and ease. Plenty of teachers caught her. No matter how many held her back after class to reprimand Rinoa, she resumed her antics, bringing life to the blank, boring pages.

Only a few adults, however, suggested she try an art class.

She hadn’t attended one since she was a child. It served more as a break from the tedious textbooks, just as sought out as lunchtime. Come middle school, the classes were optional and deemed by many a means for an easy A.

After one week into a class, Rinoa realized it would be anything but a breeze. Long gone were the days of finger painting and sculpey—there was even homework! The teachers taught her of anatomy, perspective, and color theory. As Rinoa practiced new techniques, the process clicked in her head better than any lecture had. Endless sketchbooks and canvases overflowed with charcoal, pastels, oil paints, and markers, each page another exploration of the medium. And when she ran out of pages, she learned how to use the pottery wheel, kiln, looms, silkscreens, cameras, and more.

What once was a scribble to entertain her during class transformed into a means to express herself when words failed her.

She forgot all of her struggles with her other classes upon walking into the art room. No one judged her or her ideas there. It still wasn’t enough to keep her from criticizing herself. Others surpassed her skill and deserved praise more than she did. Nothing she created was worthy of a museum or gallery.

“You’re still young, Rinoa,” her teacher said with a soft smile, “and have much to learn. You never _stop_ learning, really. That’s the beauty of art—it’s always evolving and we as artists must learn to adjust our craft to meet with the times. It would be boring if nothing ever changed.”

She liked that idea—she was only challenged to better herself.

What excited Rinoa even more was the book her teacher gave to her. Come to find out, it wasn’t exactly a book, but an informative guide about one of the art schools in Deling City.

“I know you’re still too young to be thinking about applying to universities,” her teacher said, “but it’s something you should consider. You have a lot of potential, Rinoa, and you’d only grow more under the right professors.”

Rinoa tucked it away with the rest of her textbooks and binders. With two periods left, Rinoa itched to yank that book out and flip through it. How had it never occurred to her that there were, in fact, schools dedicated to art and nothing else. Of course, it meant surviving college prep first, but it had to be worth it. Anything but the mundane garbage she tolerated day in and day out.

Upon returning home, Rinoa rushed to her bedroom. Forgotten homework spilled out of her backpack. Rinoa curled up in bed, legs drawn close to prop up the art school book and devour its contents.

Pages upon pages dedicated to the various concentrations relating to the arts, including areas even her private academy didn’t cover. She longed to learn the secrets of glassblowing, metalsmithing, and calligraphy. Even if she wished to focus on traditional 2D studies, the options were endless: illustration, painting, drawing, printmaking, and more. Rinoa fluttered her eyes upon discovering a list of professions accompanying every major. It was more than an alternative form of expression or therapy; it was a valid way to live life. She gazed out her window, lost in reverie over the endless paths her art could take her.

The only downsides were the admission requirements: the artist statements, the academic recommendations, the entrance essays, and the daunting minimums for grades. _Yeesh, I_ _’ll be lucky if I get close to grades like that the end of middle school, never mind senior year,_ Rinoa mused with an annoyed sigh. But there were four more years before that and thus four more years to improve, both academically and artistically. If admitted art students were able to balance both homework with drawings and paintings, then so could Rinoa.

In the back of her mind, she imagined her mother discovering Rinoa lost in the art school book, beyond proud of her daughter. It might not have been music, but it was nonetheless _art_. Rinoa only hoped she could make an impression on the world with her drawings and paintings as Julia had with her voice and piano.

 

* * *

 

“What is this?”

Fury held up the letter in the middle of dinner. His abrupt question shattered the typical silence Rinoa was long accustomed to those nights he made an effort to appear. Still chewing, Rinoa flicked her eyes up. She hadn’t read the letter, but she knew what it was.

“Dad,” Rinoa said once swallowing, “I can’t read it.” She extended a hand, albeit limp. “Just... let me see—”

“Dear Mr. Caraway.” He jerked his hand back and flicked his wrist to the straighten the paper. “We are happy to inform you that your daughter, Rinoa Caraway, has been _selected_ by an elite committee of renown artists to be one of the few privileged students chosen for the Shining Stars Artists Exhibit. We believe Rinoa exemplifies the qualities we are looking for and wish to showcase her work. Her paintings are vivid, complex, and evocative. It is clear she possesses vast talent and a unique vision, thus leading to the committee unanimously agreeing on her selection. It would be an honor to have her here. Please write back if she is able to attend and we shall plan accordingly. If not, then we can only hope to see more from Rinoa in the future. Sincerely, the Shining Stars Artists Exhibit Committee.”

Fury slammed the letter to the table and pinned it in place, leaving his face visible once more. Rinoa struggled to maintain eye contact.

A part of her reasoned that she couldn’t hide it. Nonetheless, Rinoa stashed away sketchbooks in place of texts on science and history when Fury was present. Maybe if she tried hard enough, he’d never find out. Anything to keep him from crushing yet another thing which she loved.

But she didn’t make it until graduation; she made it to the middle of freshman year.

“Dad, look,” she began, softening her tone more than she wanted, “let me explain—”

“I thought the only reason you were taking those stupid classes was because everything else conflicted with your core curriculum. Or did I mishear you when you spoke those words?”

_Well, you_ _’re not wrong,_ Rinoa kept to herself. How else was she to continue taking art classes? Stretching the truth ensured his signature of approval on her class selection every semester; in her eyes, it was better than withering from the inability to create.

“I really like them, Dad,” she started with; not a lie, but not the entire truth. “It’s a nice break from the rest of—”

“So you entered to be in an _exhibit_?”

“Okay, technically, my teacher nominated me to maybe get a chance to—” Not a muscle twitched on his glowering face. Rinoa exhaled and shrugged. “So?”

“ _So_? This has _nothing_ to do with your education.”

“How do you know that? Dad, if _every_ kid was to be some super intelligent person, the world would be boring. Maybe I’m not cut out for any of that.”

“Your grades as of recently say otherwise.”

_Shit._ _The one time I actually put some effort into any of that and all you take away is that I_ _’m now suddenly an academic._ “Good grades or not, I don’t want to spend my entire life with my nose in a book.”

“But messing with paints and clay is far better?”

Rinoa huffed out a groan. “Dad, I _like_ art! I _like_ drawing things! And I like painting and sculpture and so much more. This... this makes me _happy_. I feel like I can be myself when I do this and apparently—” She gestured to the letter with a roll of her eyes. “—I’m half decent enough to be accepted into this exhibit. If you even bothered to read whatever pamphlet came with that letter, you’d see it’s not just a place where people can glorify their children’s finger paintings; it’s for people who current artists think are the future wave of the art scene. That... _that_ means a lot. There are _seniors_ who applied to this and didn’t make it, Dad. And yes, I care more about that than my studies. I want to create. I want to make something for everyone to see. Maybe it’ll make them smile or cry or scream, but I’d rather do that than never make an impression at all.

“So... please, don’t be upset. I’m not doing it to hurt you; I’m doing it because it’s the only thing that keeps me from hurting inside. I feel alive. I love it, Dad. I don’t want to lose this.”

The silence overwhelmed Rinoa. The beats of her heart and shallow breaths thrummed in her ears. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock down the hallway and the distant roll of cars on the streets lived in the dining room instead of hundreds of feet away. Fury never flinched. He could have morphed into a statue for all she knew. When he did stir, he stood from his seat and beckoned to Rinoa.

“Show me this _art_ of yours.”

No warmth lingered on his tongue, though the bitter cold didn’t chill Rinoa. She rose and led him to her bedroom.

She unearthed the canvas and parchments she set ink and paints to. Each one she handled with care while Fury stood inches from the doorway, arms crossed and lips pursed. Rinoa didn’t explain any of her pieces; her works could speak for themselves. Her subjects ranged from structural drawings to still lifes of people, but her favorites were those of scenes she conceptualized on her own.

It was because of that imagination which she earned a revered spot in the exhibit.

Tucked in the back of her closet, resting along Julia’s framed posters, was a painting on stretched canvas. The vibrant colors depicted a flower field underneath a starry sky. In the middle was a woman with her back to the viewer and angel wings spreading to the edges of the canvas. Flower petals and feathers alike swirled about her while shooting stars marked the night sky. Rinoa handled the painting with care, settling it on top of her bed.

Only then did Fury move into her room to further inspect the painting. Rinoa stood off to the side, one arm flat against her body with the other crossing her stomach to cling to it. Was this what it was like to have a renown critic approach her work to judge it? She tried to read his face, but the words screaming there vanished years ago. All Rinoa could do was wait.

“It’s... based on a dream I had,” she explained, licking her trembling lips. “Well, keep having. I titled it _Angel Wing_. Nothing too elaborate. Short and sweet, right? I figured the painting itself would speak more than a title—”

“ _This_ is what you’re wasting your time with?”

The words died in Rinoa’s throat.

“After all the money I’ve spent on private schools and personal tutors, _this_ is what you have to thank me with?”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Dad, I’m not trying to—”

“You really think you can get by without an education with this half-assed attempt at art?”

Fingers fidgeted over one another. “I’m... still learning.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re done with learning.”

“What, do you expect me to perfect at this on my first shot?! Geez, Dad, I’m freaking fifteen! How am I suppose to get better if you won’t even let me?!”

“You’re better off spending your time—”

“Where?! _Not_ doing something I love? Didn’t you and Mom used to tell me—”

“ _Rinoa_.”

“ _All_ the damn time: just be happy. Do what makes you _happy_. So long as you aren’t hurting anyone, it’s _okay_. So suddenly it’s _not_ okay?!”

“I’m not going to let you throw away your future for—”

“ _You_ _’re_ the one throwing away my future! _You_ _’re_ the one who won’t let me be anything more than what _you_ will let me be! I’m not _you_ , Dad, and at this rate, I hope I never have to be! If anything, I’m more like Mom when it comes to the creative—”

“You are _not_ your mother.” His voice echoed in the room, akin to an officer issuing an order to a subordinate. “You are _not_ an artist. You are more than that, Rinoa. You’re a Caraway. I expect more from you and it’s not in _this_.” He gestured to the painting. “You are not going to this exhibit and you are not taking any more art classes. Come the end of the school year, you’ll be enrolled in a different academy and hopefully, you’ll learn that life isn’t all about wasting it away on trivial delights. Am I clear?”

Her mouth hung ajar. Her eyes twitched about, as if searching for the cracks in his truths. Rinoa blinked, denying to acknowledge the tears stinging behind her eyes. When she hitched her breath, she found her voice again.

“This is about Mom, isn’t it? It always was about her. You were fine with destroying every evidence that she ever existed. Not everyone is _you_. Some people don’t want to part with the reminders of what once made them the happiest. Mom and her music used to make _me_ happy, but she’s not here to do that anymore, so now I’m trying to do my damn best to make myself happy, because you sure as hell aren’t doing anything about it.”

Fury shifted and marched towards her. Rinoa stepped backwards; her feet might have stuttered, but her tongue never did.

“Maybe you’re just afraid that I’m going to turn into her and I’ll be happy, while you continue to be nothing but miserable. Maybe you’re scared I’ll be successful and follow in her footsteps. Whatever the case, you can’t erase what makes me smile and passionate just because you can’t get a grip on your emotions.”

“That’s _enough_ ,” he snarled.

“No, it’s not!” Rinoa’s back met with the wall on the opposite side of the room. “I’m not going to be a slave to your every wish and will.”

“So long as you live under my roof, you _will_ obey me. I am your father.”

“And you’re a shitty excuse for a father! Why are you even like this?! I’m not some soldier to boss around! You used to be happy at one point, too. We all were. Sometimes I wonder if you even love me anymore.”

And he didn’t say anything—just walked towards her with a look in his eyes that promised death. Rinoa focused on her breaths and not the acceleration of her heart.

Her mind reverted back to those times she spoke of—when they were happy. She was so young then, yet the memories rang true. Back when he didn’t work himself down to the bone and liberally spent time with his family. As for Rinoa, she followed Julia like a shadow, always hoping to catch her in the parlor to play another song. Another melody to dance to, another moment to lose herself in. She knew every song by heart.

Except for one.

A secret between her and Julia. She promised. Recalling the faint echoes of the memory left her body in a violent shudder: Julia’s sullen eyes and pain-riddled voice mixed through the airy, yet lonely melody.

She longed for someone else—someone who wasn’t Fury Caraway.

Rinoa stood tall and barked out, “She didn’t always love you, either!”

Fury stopped dead in his tracks.

“Did you know any of Mom’s songs she never published? She played one for me. Said it was to be a secret between us. Said it wasn’t about _you_.”

The anger evaporated from her father’s face. The mask he wore for years shattered and crumbled, leaving behind a sadness Rinoa never witnessed before. His lips twitched and his eyes flicked downwards.

And then he turned to leave her room.

Even alone, Rinoa remained glued to the wall. The adrenaline died off, replaced with a fresh wave of anxiety. She clutched her stomach and swallowed both the nausea and thought of the words that had rushed out.

_Why did I even say that? To make him angry? To get him to shut up?_ Rinoa rubbed her arms. _But... Mom did love him and he loved her. I just... wanted him to know what it felt like every time he makes me feel insignificant._

Collapsing to the floor, Rinoa curled up into a ball and gazed over her artwork scattered about the room. Maybe he’d think differently about it now or maybe he’d respond to her teenage outburst with a similar, immature hate. She didn’t know. The uncertainty flipped her organs over and stained her face with tears.

She knew what she wanted. If only he could come to understand that. If only she had a father who supported her.

And she wondered about the other man supposedly once in her mother’s life, leaving enough of an impression for her to write a song about him. Maybe such a person was far better than Fury ever would be. Maybe things would have been different with another father.

Maybe she’d finally be happy.

 

* * *

 

He never said a word to her come morning. Or that evening. The letter vanished from the dining room table, but Rinoa didn’t dare bring it up in conversation.

She also didn’t expect her teacher to confront her the next week asking why she had retracted her art entry for the exhibit.

Upon returning home, Rinoa screamed for no one to hear. Fury was never home until dinner, anyways, if at all. She tore through her room, flinging art supplies and paintings alike across the space. Her rage never sizzled as she headed for the one thing she couldn’t rid her mind of.

The painting sat in the back of her closet, protected from the elements of the world. The committee loved it—loved _her_. They found promise within her oil paints and brush strokes. They believed she’d continue to flourish as an artist. The painting was to be displayed in an exhibit next to other prized works of art. Now it never would.

Rinoa hurled it across the room and into a wall, where it split in half.

In the wake of the destruction were her shallow breaths and scattered canvas. Rinoa stared at the remains of the piece she poured her heart into. The countless hours and tubes of paint... all but colorful shreds, like a kaleidoscope. All because of a dream she never ceased to have, where she sprouted wings and flew past the heavens to join the only place she could call home anymore—the stars.

If her father refused to understand the painting, how was he to ever understand anything she ever told him?

And when the consequences of her actions settled in like a dead weight in her stomach, Rinoa collapsed to her knees, clutched her hair, and cried until the world blurred away.


	5. Chapter 5

Rinoa stared out the window of the academy, no different from her days in her previous classes. Cloud gazing and daydreaming made the days go by faster than actually paying attention to history dates. She hated everything: the pretentious teachers, the endless rules, the unfathomable homework load, the same, stiff uniform plastered on herself and her peers. Not a single extracurricular class marked her schedule, let alone art. Then again, it _was_ a military prep school.

Of course Fury threw her into one. Anything to feel a sense of accomplishment on his end. Beyond that? Who knew what would come from her time spent there.

What was worse were the whispers woven through lectures masked as secrets. Word traveled fast of the arrival of General Caraway’s daughter and Rinoa was met with astonishment and admiration. Every class, she sat through the distant buzz of gossip or giggles, all directed at her. Every day, she jostled past students who wished to gush with her about Fury’s famous tactics and strategies.

“It must be so cool to have your father be a renown officer!”

“I bet you grew up practicing marches and battle routines!”

“He must be so proud of you following in his footsteps!”

Rinoa, however, wasn’t a soldier. Nor was she bright enough to work behind the scenes as a prospective intelligence officer. Sparring classes added an extra dose of excitement into the dull regimen of classes, but Rinoa was more inclined to beat her opponent with a mixture of clumsy force and dumb luck instead of precise attacks. At least she had an opportunity to unleash some pent-up rage against her peers without landing in detention.

No matter how much she tried—even if it was enough to finally make Fury proud or once more hold a pleasant conversation with him—Rinoa’s heart was never in it. She longed to return to her old school with her old friends. Anything to smile again. She wanted to be furious with her father for locking her up in the military academy. Every time he asked how her studies were, it was like a superior officer asking for a debriefing.

What was Fury’s master plan, anyways? To cripple her until she died on the inside? To make her an obedient slave to him instead of a devoted daughter? The academy wouldn’t help. Even if she did become military ready, Rinoa wished to connect and help others by another means.

Would her peers change their minds if they had a glimpse of the hell he subjected her to? Considering their behavior, perhaps not. At least they all consented to joining.

Every day, she walked the academy’s hallways without friends flanking her. Every day, she ate lunch alone. Every day, she returned home to her bedroom to stare at piles of homework in contempt.

_If only I could fly away,_ she thought every waking moment, _then I wouldn_ _’t be stuck here... then I would be happy._

But this wasn’t a fairytale romance; this was her _life_. There were laws in Deling City, which deemed her to still be a child at the age of sixteen, and thus unable to live on her own. No doubt Fury, of all people, would hunt her down.

Rinoa heaved out a sigh and collapsed onto her bed. She would never grow wings to fly away. There had to be a genuine, reasonable way to escape the nightmare she lived in. If only she knew where to begin.

 

* * *

 

Her hand skittered about the fresh page, struggling to keep up with the lecture. Rinoa hunched over her desk and chewed her lip. This wasn’t how she planned on spending her summer, but the academy required it. Despite her above average grades at the end of sophomore year, the gaps in her education for missing the military regiment of freshman classes were glaring. While a majority of the students were on summer vacation or shopping or doing anything that didn’t involve studying, Rinoa was stuck daily with a handful of delinquents who cared even less for the fundamental classes.

Brown eyes flicked up to the chalkboard, desperate to focus on the scribbles detailing Para-magic theory. With so few students in the class, it was a surprise how damn distracting they were.

“Hey, what class you have after this?” one of them asked another, clearly incapable of whispering.

“Health. Pfff, what a waste of time. What are they going to do? Tell me shit I already know from—”

“If you are so intent on not paying attention in class,” their teacher raised her voice, “then by all means, you can go home and explain to your parents why you have _another_ failed class.”

Silence returned to the musty classroom. Rinoa stifled a chuckle.

In between her notes, she checked her agenda. Two more classes until the day was over. For the first week of summer classes, her homework load was reasonable, though she didn’t count on it staying that way. She scrunched up her face; circled in red was Saturday along with the note _gala with Fury_. Rinoa had almost forgotten. Yet another fancy function to honor someone in the military who did a brave thing or whatever. Just as much propaganda bullshit as the abstinence program the boys behind her were now chatting about.

_At least I have a bigger chance of scoring free condoms in the bathrooms of the gala than here,_ Rinoa mused.

Not that she had a need for them. There was no boy in her life for her to humor the notion of sex with. Fury’s so-called sex education with her was comprised of idle threats, for anyone who dared to even hold her hand was to be shot. How typical—another aspect of her life he’d love to crush.

Though it would have been nice—having a boy to fool around with. Plenty of her peers found ways to entertain themselves, no matter how many guest speakers visited the academy to speak against sex, drugs, and alcohol. Beneath those sweet masks were whispers of posh parties and back alley fixes. Most of it wasn’t her cup of tea, but Rinoa couldn’t blame them for wanting a distraction, an escape. She wished she had someone to indulge in, too.

Her mind painted lewd fantasies. A gentle sigh fell from her smiling lips. The daydreams faded with a blink of her eye. A blank chalkboard stared back at Rinoa and the teacher deviated her lecture.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself. She never finished her sentence, let alone jot down all the notes from the board. Maybe she didn’t miss anything important.

A brief glance to the only clock in the room left Rinoa slumping into her desk. How was there still thirty minutes left in class? The teacher wasn’t making the dense subject matter any easier to swallow, nor were the idiots behind her keen to shut up any time soon.

“You seen them yet?” one of them tried to whisper.

“Nah, but everyone keeps talking about them.”

“Yeah, no shit, because why the hell are they here and not G-Garden?”

“Pfff, I don’t know. Heard Kiana say something about them having specialized weapons? You know, the more exotic shit?”

“And G-Garden doesn’t cover any of that? Figures.... Bunch of military wannabes, anyways. They couldn’t make it a day past basic—”

“Could you _please_ shut up?” Rinoa raised her voice, turning around to glare at both of them.

The two boys stared back, straightening themselves out in an attempt to make her cower.

“Ms. Caraway,” their teacher interjected, each word dangling from a thread of patience, “is there a problem?”

“Yeah, these two can’t seem to keep quiet back here.” Rinoa narrowed her eyes. “ _Some_ of us actually want to learn something.”

“Yeah, well, _some_ of us,” one of them snapped back, “don’t give a shit—”

“ _Out_.” With a snap of her fingers, the teacher pointed to the door. “Both of you. _Now_.”

They groaned and took their time with gathering their belongings. Rinoa sighed and returned to center, ignoring whatever daggers they skewered her with their eyes.

“Fucking stuck-up bitch,” one of them grumbled, his massive backpack whacking Rinoa as he slipped it on.

Rinoa’s blood boiled. “ _Hey_!”

“On second thought,” the teacher added on, “do me a favor and go directly to the dean’s office. You two can explain why you’re there and getting expelled. You’re wasting my time, the student body’s time, _and_ clearly your own time. And no funny ideas about skipping out; your parents will find out one way or another.”

With a scoff, both the idiots exited the room with a slam of the door. Rinoa slouched in her seat, propping her face up with a loose fist. On second thought, maybe she _didn_ _’t_ want a boy to fool around with.

 

* * *

 

Flipping through her agenda, Rinoa marked down the homework she received from her modern Galbadian history class. The day was over and she was free to return home, but the laundry list of homework she accumulated left Rinoa whimpering.

_How am I going to get this all done in time for Monday?_ Rinoa mused while walking about campus. _And there_ _’s that stupid gala I still need to go to. Ugh, why is all of this so—_

A scream shattered Rinoa’s thoughts and jolted her attention elsewhere. In the center of campus was the common grounds, home to those who wanted a sunny spot to eat lunch or a breath of fresh air. No one lounged about the trees and rocks—a fight broke out.

Rinoa’s heart jumped into her throat, only to settle back down. Yells intermixed with the clash of metal on metal. This was no fight; it was a spar. A handful of other students, mainly girls, also stopped to stare at the match unfolding. Rinoa recognized the boy from the upcoming senior class, shaking as he gripped his blade and tried to match the finesse and prowess of his opponent.

Upon fixing her sights on the other fighter, Rinoa froze.

He was a mass of lean muscle with a crooked grin. He twirled his unusual sword about, almost taunting his opponent each time he knocked him to his feet. He was clad in a black tank top and navy blue pants, nothing Rinoa ever recognized. Not that it mattered. She was too occupied memorizing the fluid, visceral motions of his body and the raw cry from his lips.

An instructor sounded a sharp whistle and ended the match. A round of applause circulated through the small group of boys, some donning the academy’s colors and others the navy blue. No longer a blur, the victor stood still, resting his blade against his shoulder and tilting his head back with a smug smirk.

The female students dispersed about Rinoa once the instructor resumed teaching. They whispered and giggled, though Rinoa stayed and held her tongue. The instructor wielded a similar weapon to the victor, displaying several techniques for him to try out. He mimicked, albeit with his own flair.

“It would be in your best interest,” the instructor offered, “if you opted to use both hands instead of one for your attacks.”

He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“You’ll have more control over motions, thus more precision.”

He jerked a thumb over to his sparring partner. “Well, I just whooped his ass, so my style can’t be all _that_ bad.”

The blue-clad students snickered while the academy boy exchanged snark with the newcomer. Even Rinoa laughed to herself.

And then he turned and caught Rinoa’s eye. Or so she thought. With a quick inspection, she confirmed she was the only one remaining, the only one watching. Her eyes returned to him and he never flinched.

Had his session been truly over, Rinoa would have walked up to him. The distance between them required yells to communicate and she wasn’t about to land herself in detention for interrupting a training class. Thus she chewed her lip and waved. That cocky grin of his widened while he gestured to her with his chin before looking away.

She didn’t remember the walk home or her homework or even the gala that Saturday. All she dreamed of was the weekend flying by so she could return to the academy.

 

* * *

 

After classes ended for the day, Rinoa found a bench to camp out at and finish her homework. The sparring class continued at the common grounds, though she only tore her eyes away from her studies when she heard a particular voice enter the fray. Other students paused to inspect the commotion, but Rinoa always stayed until the end.

She watched the same boy spar peers with a blade that occasionally struck with an actual explosion, much to Rinoa’s shock. Some days he walked away victorious, others he chucked his weapon to the ground and stormed off. His frustrations fueled his attacks more than his instructor wished. Even from afar, Rinoa snickered when she caught his occasional eye roll.

Still she kept her distance, not wishing to intrude. Every day, the same spot, the same assignments, and the same boy.

Rinoa never even noticed someone approaching her during a spar.

“So are you just going to sit there and watch me forever?”

Fluttering her eyes, Rinoa jerked her head back and gasped. Cyan eyes peered down upon her. He was far taller than she believed he was. A matching, navy blue jacket slumped over his shoulder. Rinoa recognized the Balamb Garden insignia decorated at the collar.

“It’s been what?” He cocked his head and smirked. “Two weeks? Something like that? You’re here every damn day.”

Rinoa matched his expression. “Is that such a bad thing?”

To that, he jerked his head back and laughed. “Can’t say I’ll ever say no to an audience. Or a fan, for that matter. The guys have been giving me shit about a potential stalker, but clearly they’ve never talked to a lady before.” He ran a gloved hand through his golden locks swept away from his face. “You got a name or should I just stick to calling you my cheerleader?”

He spoke with a confident strength Rinoa never witnessed before. Even of the military folk she was acquainted with, their power was refined and polished, but what stood before her was compelling and authentic. The very presence of this boy radiated with a grit which continued to intrigue Rinoa; it was addictive. She was more at ease with him in their few words exchanged than with the man claiming to be her father the entirety of her life.

So she jumped to her feet, brushed her skirt off, and extended a hand. “I’m Rinoa Caraway.”

His eyebrows perked up at the last name, but his tongue never twitched. The instructor called him back while his peers teased with sharp whistles and howls. His gloved hand slipped into Rinoa’s and both greeted one another with a firm handshake.

“Seifer Almasy,” he responded, his eyes never leaving hers.


	6. Chapter 6

It started with her visiting him during his spars. After each session, he chatted with her until one of his friends from Balamb collected him. Rinoa learned of his gunblade and life on the other side of the world. He spoke of pristine beaches and the best seafood ever in between gagging on how bored out of his mind he was with Balamb Garden.

“I should be a SeeD by now,” he told Rinoa.

“Well, what’s holding you back?” she asked.

Turned out the same things which held her back from her studies. Seifer excelled outside of lecture halls and learned better by experience, hence why he and a few select others were sent out to Deling City. Apparently, another student used a gunblade, but Seifer never uttered a name. The disgust in his eyes was enough for Rinoa.

And Rinoa breathed life to her struggles. The military academy was more of a cage than an opportunity. She wasn’t sure what to expect from Seifer in terms of a reaction.

“I’d be suffocating if I had to go to school here every damn day,” he finally replied with a scoff. “Fancy and all, but no one wins on being pretty or having more money. How the hell does anyone learn _anything_ here?”

“Are you trying to tell me _you_ haven’t learned anything yet here?” Rinoa teased.

“Tch, far from it! I don’t have to take the boring ass classes you’re taking right now. It’s all field prep for me. Kind of feel sorry for you.”

Rinoa shrugged her shoulders. _I feel sorry for me, too._ “Don’t. I put myself in this position. Just... trying to make the most of it.”

“By shoving your face in a book?”

A snort shot out of her. “Books aren’t _that_ bad! At least in general. When it’s pages after pages of mundane text... then yeah, it’s a bit boring.”

“You’d think they’d be more about hands-on learning around here or something.”

“That’s reserved for the upperclassmen, I believe. Even then, we’d have to wait until the actual military before we can learn the real stuff.”

Seifer tilted his head while his mouth turned into a straight line. “You sound so pumped about all of this.”

“That obvious?” The two snickered over the dry sarcasm before Rinoa continued. “Like I said; I’m trying to make the most of all of this.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were forced to attend here.”

Rinoa didn’t answer.

“And regardless if that’s the case or not,” Seifer went on, “I think you’re in a serious need for something to liven up your life. Well, at least _I_ am, so this is my official proposal for you to tag along with me.”

His proposition was a curious one which tugged at the corners of Rinoa’s lips. “And what would you suggest we do?”

A wild grin met her. “How about we ditch this shit hole and find something _way_ more interesting?”

 

* * *

 

It was freeing to hang out with Seifer. The last time she socialized with a friend felt like a lifetime ago, let alone a firebrand such as Seifer. His smile was contagious, but his spirit left a lasting mark within Rinoa. Together, they ventured past the campus and out into the city with nothing to hold them back, save for their imagination, curfews, and wallets.

Seifer claimed to have never set foot in Deling City or any urban sprawl before. As proud as he made himself out to be, he gazed at the towers in awe and marveled upon wonders Rinoa took for granted as a city-dweller. He even waited for the lights to instruct him to walk at busy intersections, despite his rebellious nature. Rinoa laughed at him and ran across the moment no cars were in sight with Seifer at her heels.

She basked in his stories of Garden along with his dreams to become something more than a SeeD. There was determination in both his eyes and tongue. She envied it, in a way. It didn’t matter if he spoke to Rinoa or his superiors; Seifer never compromised himself for the sake of appearances.

“How do you do it?” she asked him while sipping on a milkshake.

Seifer perked up an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Do _you_. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you trip over yourself in any social situation. You’re just so cool about it.”

Seifer failed to hide his smirk. “Eh, must be in my blood. Some things you’re born into. Can’t really teach someone to grow a pair of balls.”

Rinoa snorted, almost choking on her milkshake as they walked down the glittering, night-lit streets of Deling City.

“I like it,” she commented after a pause.

“What? My balls?”

“Stop!” Smacking his arm, Rinoa contained her laughter before going on. “I meant your fearlessness.”

“Mmm? That so?”

She nodded and hummed. “I wish I could be like that.”

“Like you’re not now?”

“Not like you.”

“Pffff, Rin, you got more balls than half the guys I know back at Garden. Your problem is you don’t know you have it in you.”

No one ever phrased it to her like that before. Her steps slowed and her eyes widened as she looked over Seifer. Images of all the times she and her father fought surfaced. 

_I_ _’m not as strong as you think I am,_ she kept to herself. _It_ _’s still touching for you to say that. I wish I was. I’m just... not strong enough to fight against the one who’s holding me back._

“Hey, you doing alright?”

Fluttering her eyes, Rinoa found herself standing still with Seifer looming above with a puzzled expression. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“I say something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head with a smile. “No, you’re saying everything right, actually.”

That smirk of his softened for an instant. A girl could get used to that look of his.

“Well, come on, Princess.” Seifer beckoned for her to follow. “Let’s get you home before you turn into a gyshall green.”

She snickered at the thought, rushing over to catch up with Seifer before looping an arm around his. “You’re quite the valiant escort.”

“I know. That’s why they keep me around.”

And she laughed all the way back to the mansion. They both did.

Rinoa returned well past dinner time and her eyes widened. _Shit, I lost track of time._ But Fury was nowhere to be found in the estate, much to her surprise. Rinoa released a breath and settled into her bedroom. A smirk crept onto her lips. When was the last time she arrived at such an hour without a care in the world?

 

* * *

 

Every night, Seifer returned her to the mansion, wished her sweet dreams, and wandered off. Every night, Rinoa inched closer to him. She memorized his face: the sharp edges of his cheeks and jaw, the brightness in his blueish-green eyes, and the fullness of his lips.

Seifer never left her thoughts when she slipped inside and retreated to her bedroom. Moments later, Fury returned home, just in time to find Rinoa slaving over homework she neglected for hours in place of a boy.

“Classes going well?” he would ask while passing by her open door.

“Yup,” Rinoa replied, eyes glued to her notebooks.

He never said another word. All that mattered to him, in the end, was that her pages were filled with lectures instead of drawings.

Once he left, Rinoa’s enthusiasm for her assignments vanished. She chewed on her pencil and stared blankly while Seifer overwhelmed her mind.

The fantasy of kissing him surfaced. His lips tempted her many nights, yet she restrained herself, biting her lower lip when he walked away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trench coat and head held high. Close to everyone at the academy had a special someone in their life, whether it was a steady relationship or a distraction. Maybe Seifer could help her escape from her mundane life. Perhaps not literally, but enough where she’d sit between bliss and reality.

Rinoa groaned and buried her face in a pillow. _I should be focusing on my stupid studies before I get caught. Besides, he probably doesn_ _’t even like me like that._

Lies and she knew it. Why else would Seifer spend his free time with her every night? He tolerated her enough to never push her away when she leaned into him or jokingly clung to his arm or rested her head upon his shoulder. And yet he sufficed with a mere goodbye when they parted ways and never thought twice.

Someone as bold as Seifer _had_ to make the first move. It was in his blood, or so he claimed. Maybe his confidence faltered in the presence of women. He also never mentioned a girlfriend—current or past—though his jokes straddled the line leading into the gutter more often than not. If his mind was there, then there had to be interest. Maybe not in Rinoa specifically, but in general.

His words echoed in her busy head as she rolled onto her back: _Your problem is you don_ _’t know you have it in you._

 

* * *

 

“And ever since then,” Seifer wrapped up with a chuckle, “we’ve been best friends.”

Rinoa laughed with him. “They sound like good people.”

“Yeah, Raijin still hasn’t forgiven me for pushing him into the pool like that, but it’s been one of the few times I’ve seen Fujin smile. Worth it, if you ask me.”

“Wish I could’ve been there to see it!”

“I mean, they shut down the pool ever since then. Something about safety or lack thereof, I don’t fucking know. Kind of sucks. Adults just don’t let kids be kids these days. Everything’s a hazard or—”

Seifer rattled on and the smile on Rinoa’s face vanished as they took a corner and came into view of the mansion. No lights emitted from Fury’s office or bedroom. Still, Rinoa didn’t breathe easy.

_He won_ _’t find out,_ Rinoa repeated in her head like a mantra.

She lost track of Seifer’s tales as they crawled to the front gates. His voice faded with the city’s ambiance as she replayed imaginary scenarios of Fury raining his rage and disapproval down upon her. Rinoa balled her hands into fists, furrowed her brow enough to tempt a headache, and clenched her jaw.

“Hey.” Seifer nudged her. “You’re home, Princess.”

Rinoa remembered to breathe. She steadied her shaking hands.

“Um....” Seifer rubbed his neck. “You okay? Did I say something weird?”

She chewed her lip and closed her eyes to focus.

“Tch, yeah. Okay.” Seifer groaned and pivoted to leave. “You’re welcome—”

Rinoa lunged out to latch onto the lapels of his coat. She jerked him towards her and silenced him with her mouth on his. Seifer melted into her, arms rapidly embracing her to mirror Rinoa’s actions.

_He won_ _’t find out,_ she thought while Seifer tangled his hands in her hair. _He won_ _’t find out_ , she reminded herself as he sucked her lip. _He won_ _’t find out,_ she believed when his hips rocked into her.

They reluctantly broke away for air, gasping and clinging onto one another for stability. His cyan eyes flicked over her while he licked his lips, almost brushing over her own.

“You’re welcome,” Rinoa teased, her voice a succulent purr.

His lips were on her before she finished. Again, she tasted him. Again, she sunk into his body, his heat, his scent, his desire.

“Make me forget,” she whispered into his mouth.

His eyes lit up like the endless colors illuminating Deling City. “Forget what?” Still cocky, despite his whispering words. She loved it.

Looping her arms around his neck, Rinoa nuzzled further into Seifer. “Everything.”

 

* * *

  


There was something to be said about the romance tales concocted in the novels Rinoa once read—it was all garbage. Every step and word was a fabricated lie meant to rot the hopes and dreams of those wistful souls hoping for true love.

Rinoa didn’t yearn for any of that. She ached for clumsy hands and sloppy kisses to numb her from reality. Seifer was far from a fumbling idiot drooling before a first encounter with a naked woman, but neither was perfect. At least not perfect in the way written words illustrated intimacy. Seifer was perfect for _her_ , though. He never stopped touching her and moaning her name. He laid eyes upon her as if she was his patron goddess. He simultaneously pampered and tested her. Rinoa loved every second.

That was what mattered. The cocky, handsome, blond boy above her, between her, inside of her. His heart thrumming out of time with hers. Unsteady breaths upon trembling lips. Claw marks scrapped down backs and thighs. Absolutely, utterly insatiable. All of it leading to an ecstasy—a mutual one, at that—she never tasted before.

He grinned against her lips and she laughed into his as they tangled themselves up in the bed sheets of his tiny boarding school dorm. Sweat slicked their bodies, glistening in the scattered neon lights pouring in from the crack claiming to be a window. Seifer occupied her mind, from his snarky banter to his energetic spars to his rare displays of chivalry during their nighttime walks to now. She forgot the world around her, though she couldn’t possibly forget him. A grin overcame Rinoa as she nuzzled into Seifer and basked in the afterglow.

That night she never returned home and Rinoa didn’t care.


	7. Chapter 7

“Where have you been?”

Rinoa never tore her eyes away from her breakfast while she chewed. “Hmm?”

“You weren’t home last night.”

No. She wasn’t. “I was out studying.”

There was a pause. “ _Studying_?”

“Yeah, at the library?” Rinoa swallowed and met his frigid gaze. “I just wanted a change of scenery or do you not want me studying now?”

But she lied. The question remained: did Fury buy it?

Through the silence, he looked her over, perhaps lost in contemplation, then exited the kitchen. Rinoa released a breath she didn’t realize she held.

She never lied to him before. Not outright, anyways. White lies and withheld information sprinkled about their conversations, but Rinoa never fabricated an answer to appease to him. A part of her wanted to spit the truth in his face, just to witness his reaction to her skipping studies to pounce a boy, only to sneak back into the mansion during the witching hours.

Regardless, Rinoa smirked to herself. This was new territory for her and it was beyond exhilarating. _I could get used to this,_ she thought while finishing off her eggs. Lying to her father, hanging around a boy she _knew_ he’d despise, and finally being happy for once in her life.

_Seems like Seifer is rubbing off on me in more than one way,_ Rinoa mused with a giggle.

Rinoa refused to get her hopes up, though; who knew if what happened between her and Seifer was a one-night stand. Not that Rinoa cared, but it would have been nice if they had a repeat performance.

Classes were a higher priority, much to her dismay, and Rinoa scribbled random answers in the blank spaces of her homework. Once passed in, Rinoa collapsed in her seat, slumped over her desk, and stared out the window. Waiting for the end of the day was torture.

When the last bell rang, Rinoa hurried to the common grounds. She bounced back and forth from her toes to her heels in anticipation. Seifer was there, no different from before, though when Rinoa gazed upon him mid-battle, she drank in the sight of his muscles. Once done with his round, Seifer sought her out in the back of the thin crowd with a stare mirroring her own: insatiable and impatient.

“Hey,” Seifer offered first.

Rinoa licked her lips, struggling to keep her eyes on his and not his glistening shoulders or his weathered hands. “Hey.”

His eyes scanned over her. “Get home alright last night?” That purr in his words ignited a fire between her thighs. “I know you can hold your own, but it’s the first night in a while that I didn’t escort you back.”

“Yeah,” Rinoa replied, hitching her breath as he stepped closer. “Was able to fend for myself.”

Seifer nodded. “Good.”

His hand found the small of her back. Rinoa floated while he ushered her to a nearby alcove. Her back met the brick wall a second before his body crushed against hers. His name barely fluttered past her lips as he consumed her mouth.

Rinoa clawed at him, unable to pry herself away. He grinned into her and so did she. Whatever sparked to life the previous night had yet to die out.

“And here I thought,” Rinoa murmured, “I was just going to be another notch on your belt.”

Seifer snickered, bumping noses with her. “When I’m done with you, Princess, every notch on my belt is going to be thanks to _you_.”

 

* * *

 

“I should get going,” Rinoa uttered with a curse beneath her breath.

Seifer scrunched up his face. “Already?”

Their post-coital cuddle lasted all of five minutes before Rinoa slipped out of bed to locate her bra and school uniform. Once clothed, Rinoa flipped her hair over her shoulder and peeked back to Seifer. Oh, he was a delectable sight.

“Yeah. School work and stuff.”

He whined. “Ugh, just do your summer school bullshit here. I don’t give a fuck.”

The laughter was much needed. “I don’t want to bore you, though.”

“Please, just ditch the outfit and sit right here.” He patted next to him on the bed. “I don’t mind. Besides... at the rate we’re going? I’m not going to be able to sleep without your cute butt here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Rinoa shuffled back over to kiss him goodbye.

Seifer latched onto her to milk every second of it. “You should. It’s an excellent idea.”

“Until next time, then?”

“Until next time.” Seifer smirked while Rinoa pulled back. “Don’t study too hard, Princess.”

“No promises,” she teased, slipping out of his dorm room.

Her smile vanished as she walked down the hallway. Her heart raced, albeit different from how Seifer made it pulse. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt and gnawed her lips raw.

What if Fury succumbed to his paranoia and frequented the library to seek her out? What if he installed cameras in the mansion without her knowing?

She scurried home without a single detour. Come morning, Fury didn’t question her. He never did for a solid month. For all he knew, his daughter was studying at the local library, except instead of memorizing battle formations, she experimented with sexual positions.

Rinoa forgot those irrational fears around Seifer. Spending time with him blurred out the consequences of her actions; she cared only for the moment. And when they fell from ecstasy, her heart never calmed down and her stomach hollowed out. Even when she cracked open textbooks to highlight that evening’s assigned reading while curled up by Seifer, panic whimpered in the back of her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The minutes crawled by. For once, it didn’t bother Rinoa. She lied on her stomach, arms folded over one another with her chin propped on top. The meager window framed the bustling nightlife below, complete with endless cars and pedestrians. The movement on the bed didn’t phase her, though she cracked a smile when Seifer peppered kisses up her spine.

“About time for you to head out, Princess,” Seifer groaned into her ear. “Get your studying in and what not. Can’t have you failing classes.”

Any other time and she would have laughed at him. A firm line comprised her lips.

“I mean... unless you’re game for another round.” Seifer sucked on her earlobe, enough to elicit a tiny mewl from Rinoa. “Hard to say no to you.”

As much as she relished his teasing, Rinoa didn’t respond with her typical giggles and pounces. Seifer stilled himself against her, lips hovering above her ear.

“Rin, what’s up?”

Was she to tell him the truth? Would he laugh at her? Or did it not matter in this pocket world where reality didn’t exist? Seifer’s lips brushed along the back of her neck and a pleasant chill traveled down to her toes. She couldn’t ignore him if she wanted to.

“My mind’s all over the place,” she murmured, her words like an echo. “You... know how I have to leave early to head back home?”

“Yeah, so you can study or something, right? Even though you’ve squeezed some work in here.” He chuckled. “I get it, I’m just a big distraction, you can say it. You want to be the A+ student that drives every guy like me fucking crazy. Won’t lie... it’s kind of hot.”

It was almost endearing. Rinoa could have ran with that, but lying to Seifer twisted her stomach into knots.

“Not really,” she mumbled.

“Then what?”

“It’s... my Dad. After the first night I was here, he was miffed.”

A newfound bout of seriousness coated Seifer’s tongue. “Did he find out?”

“No, I told him I was out studying at the library.”

He snorted into her neck. “Good one!”

“But since then, I just... worry that he’s been keeping a better eye on me or something.”

“Well....” Seifer nuzzled in and kissed her shoulder and neck. “You keep running back here, so I must be doing something good enough for you to not give a shit about your old man.”

Rinoa furrowed her brow despite the attention. “I still worry.”

“Rin.” Seifer drew out that pet name for her. “The only thing you have to worry about is whether or not you’re having fun when you’re here.”

“No, you don’t get it.” With a frustrated huff, Rinoa pushed herself away from him and sat upright. “It’s not like that. He... he....”

As the words escaped her, Seifer joined her. All humor left his face and voice.

“Rinoa,” he said, almost as soft as when he spoke in her ear during their moments of passion. “Try me.”

Part of her didn’t want to involve Seifer in the mess that was her father, but who had she confided to before? _Anyone_? The last time—the _only_ time—people expressed concern was when her mother passed away. And when her eyes met with Seifer’s, she found more than carnal desire reflected there.

So she told him. Told him about how her father changed over the years since Julia’s death, told him of Fury destroying her dream of art, and told him of her current career path being nothing but her father’s punishment. Seifer said nothing while Rinoa poured out the thoughts forever trapped in her head. Her confessions gushed like water breaking through a dam. Fear kept her from breathing life to those thoughts. Now her only worry was ceasing the cascade of nonsense spilling from her lips.

While silent, Seifer’s face wrinkled up. Fingers clawed into the bed sheets while his eyes averted elsewhere. The perpetual frown did his lovely face no favors. Not even a kiss would remedy that scowl.

Once every last drop trickled out, Rinoa heaved out a sigh and combed anxious fingers through her hair. “Seifer?” She blinked and leaned into him. “Hey, are you—”

“You know what?” He met her gaze. “Fuck your father. Anyone who thinks it’s okay to bend someone to their own will like that is disgusting and weak. People like him are the worst kind of cowards. Tch, he doesn’t deserve to be called a father. What an asshole.”

His reaction was a sucker punch. Despite the initial sting, Rinoa couldn’t disagree, not when his plain, blunt words were better than anything Rinoa ever came up with.

“Um... yeah.” Rinoa rubbed the back of her neck and looked into her lap. “That’s where I’m at.”

“It’s bullshit.”

She chuckled. “Tell me about.”

“I _am_. You should cut him from your life as soon as possible.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “W-what?”

“You heard me.”

“I... it’s not that easy, Seifer.”

“It’s only as easy as you make it out to be.”

_Damnit, why are you making this difficult now?_ “As long as I live with him, I can’t escape him.”

Seifer arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “So? Then leave. Pretty simple if you ask me.”

Spoken like that, it _was_ easy. Running away crossed Rinoa’s mind multiple times, especially during the days when she wanted to throw her textbooks out the window, but where was she to go? How would she survive on her own?

“I don’t... know how I’d go about doing that.”

Cocking his head, Seifer heaved out a massive sigh. “Really? Do I have to spell it out for you, Princess? Get a suitcase, cram all the important shit in it, get the cheapest train ticket out of Deling City, and settle someplace far away. You don’t need to make a million gil to live comfortably. Just enough to get by. Sometimes keeping it simple is better. All the other shit just complicates it. Who knows, maybe you’ll settle down in an off-beat country home, where you can do your art until you die.”

She liked that idea—loved it, even—but was it truly _that_ simple?

“I don’t know what he’d do if I left,” Rinoa said, eyes cast out the window past Seifer.

“Who fucking _cares_ what he thinks or does?! He’s the asshole who’s making you miserable!” And when she didn’t flinch, Seifer sighed again and knelt in front of her. “Look, Rin, you’re an awesome girl. I don’t know many who got a spirit like you do. It’s... refreshing to talk with someone and not feel like I’m intimidating others. It’s like you’re on my level in a way. So I know you have it in you. All you need to do is _do it_. So what if money is tight or times are rough? Would you rather sacrifice that all just to live a luxurious life under his thumb? If that was me, I would have told him off years ago.”

“You ever tell off your parents before like that?”

Seifer hesitated. “Don’t have any to tell off, but if I did, I’d sure as fuck give them a piece of my mind. And you don’t need to barge in head first with guns blazing to get your point across to him. It can be as simple as, ‘I’m leaving,’ and boom, out the door. Gone. Over with. Simple.”

“I just—”

“No, whatever you’re going to say, just stop. Don’t say it. Because it’s not true. You deserve so much better, Rin, but you got to want it for yourself. I can’t be some charming knight swooping in to save you.”

The image left Rinoa stifling her amusement. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it either way.”

“Pffff, tough shit, Princess.” He nudged her playfully and she shoved him back just as hard. His face beamed with that grin she admired. “I only got another week and then I’m packing my bags to head back to Balamb.”

Her eyes widened, followed by the pout of her lower lip. “What? So soon?”

“Oh, don’t give me that face. You knew as damn well as I did that this wasn’t going to be a forever thing. I’m only out here for the summer.”

“Yeah, but one can dream, right?”

He snorted. “Sure, why the hell not. Guess that’s all we got at the end of the day—hopes and dreams.” Then he narrowed his eyes on Rinoa. “But don’t keep your hopes as just dreams in your head. I know you can do it, Rin.”

“You really think so?”

“Tch, _know_ so. You might not be cut out for the military, but I bet you’d make for a badass SeeD.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I feel like that still involves studying and other nonsense I don’t care about.”

“Eh, give or take, but it’s different than here. At least I think so. Well... maybe you’re not the fucking poster child for SeeD, but fighting spirits like ours are gems. You got to use it for something. Being holed up in Deling City isn’t doing you any favors.”

“I don’t even know what I’d do with it.”

“You’ll think of something. Hell, bare minimum you can be a voice for those who don’t have their balls or what not. I mean, I’m all for you painting your days away in a little cabin, but I’ve seen passion in your eyes; you’re bound for something special. Something more.”

Rinoa blinked and tilted her head. “Why do I have the feeling that this is all an attempt to get laid again?”

He flashed a wide grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Is it working?”

In response, Rinoa whacked him upside the head. Seifer pounced her and initiated a mock wrestling match with Rinoa. She squealed and flailed until he pinned her to his chest and collapsed into the bed. Together, they laughed until their throats rubbed raw and the ambiance of the city washed over them.

“I mean it though, Rin.”

She perked her head up enough to catch his eyes. “Mean what?”

“That you’re meant for something big.”

“If you say so,” she said with a chuckle.

With her head along his chest, she focused on the beats of his heart, only to relapse to his words. Maybe he had a point, both with her father and what she was meant to do with her life. Sticking with the military made her gag. She would rot there. Rinoa’s soul ached for meaning and purpose beyond strict rules and tests. She longed to know how to escape it without an ounce of anxiety. Maybe it had to start with cutting ties with Fury.

“How much more time before you have to run along?”

Rinoa scouted the room for a clock and squinted. “About fifteen or twenty minutes. Depends if I’m literally running back home.”

The tone in his voice smoldered with the same spark which set her off during their first kiss. “Enough time to make you forget everything again?”

A smirk of her own tugged at her lips. “Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

“I hope you like running.”

 

* * *

 

The Balamb students departed as quickly as they arrived, taking summer with them. Rinoa sought out Seifer, only to find him by the main entrance instead of the common grounds. He broke away from his group to meet her halfway and caught her in his strong arms. They exchanged smiles and pecks on the cheek. Not exactly how she wished to send him off, but it was the only suitable act to perform in public.

“You take care of yourself, Princess,” Seifer murmured. “I won’t be here to save you and all. Got to look out for yourself.”

Rinoa nodded. “I don’t need anyone to save me. I can take care of myself.”

Seifer grinned and clapped her shoulders. “ _That_ _’s_ the spirit!”

With an inhale, Rinoa stepped into him, her voice low. “Don’t be stranger, either, okay?”

“What, you want me to send love letters to you daily or something?”

She giggled and whacked his arm. “I’m not asking for you to talk to me all the time, silly! Just... don’t want you to disappear forever.”

“Nah, not going to disappear. If I’m in the area again, I’ll be sure to look you up.”

“Same goes to you.”

His chest puffed up over that comment. “Well... until next time.” He squeezed her hands before releasing them. “Take care, Rin.”

Next time felt like a lifetime away. The unknown left a dreadful abyss in her chest. Then again, perhaps Seifer would be a SeeD when they crossed paths again. Rinoa smiled and waved goodbye as he and the others boarded a bus en route to the train station.

_Next time_ , Rinoa kept to herself, _I won_ _’t be a military pawn._


	8. Chapter 8

Without a means to distract herself, the extra bounce in Rinoa’s steps vanished—back to focusing on schoolwork. Her grades were nothing to celebrate over, but were acceptable.

Acceptable enough for Fury, not Rinoa.

Every dinner smothered with silence thanks to Fury’s presence left Seifer’s words echoing in her ear. It was simple; sever the ties with the man parading as her father and run. Freedom came at a price, though. _Can I give up all of this?_ Rinoa thought, scanning over the gourmet food prepared by the house chef and her designer clothes and contemporary interior design of the dining hall.

“How are your classes?” Fury asked after the first week of the new semester. Always acknowledging her studies and never the girl rotting from the inside out.

“Fine.” Rinoa shrugged. “Junior year is prep time. Need to make sure we’re in tip-top shape for our final year.”

“Good.”

Rinoa flicked her eyes up to him. He focused more on his prime rib than the young lady before him. With a gentle sigh, Rinoa sunk into her chair and quietly finished her meal.

 

* * *

 

Modern Galbadian History II was a continuation of the boring drivel she tortured herself with during summer. No matter the academic setting, the history texts regurgitated the same, common knowledge. The military academy displayed the topics more as propaganda than factual information; everyone else was the enemy and Galbadia was a saint.

Rinoa loathed the class before she stepped foot into it. She was further annoyed upon realizing her assigned seat was dead front and center. Students snickered at her unfortunate placement. _Lovely_ , Rinoa thought as she dropped her bag like a dead weight and fell into her seat. No more staring out windows and thinking of silly boys and their ploys. Her view was now a dried-up old man better suited to a museum than a school and his pristine chalkboard.

The beginning of their second week into class, Mr. Valenport randomly selected topics for individual students. “These are due by the end of the semester. You have the option to either hand in a written paper or give an oral presentation.” The class groaned. “Furthermore, I expect you to list ten different sources, regardless of your approach. Expand your boundaries! Don’t limit yourself to what’s only in your textbook.”

A piece of paper landed on Rinoa’s desk. She perked up and unfolded it. Her eyes widened. _Oh, you have to be kidding me._

Class proceeded as normal. Rinoa flicked her eyes to the paper intermittently. _Randomly picked, my ass_ , she thought with a furrowed brow. Others displayed frustration with their topics of choice, but surely none of them were as banal as hers. Students shuffled out upon the anticipated period bell and Rinoa marched straight to her teacher’s desk.

“Mr. Valenport,” she announced, “do you have a moment?”

He peered up from his glasses. “Ah, Ms. Caraway. What can I do for you?”

Her grip tightened around the paper despite her efforts. “Do you... _really_ expect me to do a report on this?”

“It’s a perfectly suitable topic, not to mention relevant to the times.”

“With all due respect, sir, the Timber War has been drilled into our heads since pre-school.”

“Students from previous semesters have reported on the Timber War with little problem. This is nothing new.”

“And I’m sure they all turned in the same, mundane report.”

Instead of meeting her exasperation with admonishment, he smiled. “There’s far more to learn about life than in a classroom. I’m sure you’ll find something new, Ms. Caraway. It might surprise you, perhaps even interest you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another class to teach.”

New students filtered into the room. Sighing, Rinoa squeezed past them and left. She refused to admit that perhaps her teacher had a point. War didn’t appeal to her, but she expected no less from a military prep academy.

 

* * *

 

“How are classes?”

Same question, different night. Rinoa wished to eat her dinner in silence, but Fury’s stare pried her open.

“Fine,” Rinoa offered.

She resumed eating, only to notice Fury’s frozen eyes still upon her once she swallowed.

“Well,” she continued, “I have a quiz in both Geometry and Computer Applications II by the end of the week. Classic Lit is mostly reading—” _Because of course it is, why do you care?_ “—as is Foreign Relations. Modern Galbadian History II apparently requires a paper or presentation by the end of the semester and Physics—”

“What paper?”

Rinoa paused and cursed herself for ever bringing it up.

“We were assigned topics today. I got the Timber War.” She shrugged. “Everyone knows about it.”

Fury placed his fork down and leaned forward with folded hands. “Have you begun research yet?”

His abrupt curiosity startled Rinoa. “Um... it’s not due until the end of the semester, so....” Those eyes of his nearly strangled her. “So _obviously_ I’m not waiting until the last minute to read up on it and glean some new insight.”

“Very good,” Fury said with a nod. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with. The Timber War is an important victory for Galbadia. People don’t understand what’s in their best interest.”

A nervous chuckle sputtered out of her. “Of course.” _So much for winging this several weeks before it_ _’s due._

 

* * *

 

The National Library of Deling City dated back centuries ago, echoing the aesthetic of an era long forgotten. The main reading room comprised of an impressive circular space beneath a gigantic, yet weightless dome. The sun poured in from the stained glass ceiling, emphasizing the articulated lights and shadows. Underneath the stone archways stood three stories of shelves encompassing every available wall, marked by polished oak and endless books. Nothing above a whisper traveled through the interior.

To her dismay and mild amusement, Rinoa spent more time in the library than she planned. She came to love it.

After classes, she escaped to the solitude of the library. No one bothered her there. As reluctant as she was to research the Timber War, the atmosphere eased her mind and made losing herself in a book more enticing than ever before.

Rinoa accumulated twelve books, twenty magazine articles, and far too many newspaper headlines than she cared to count by the weekend. One of the librarians was kind enough to place them all on hold for her. Each visit, she collected her materials, scouted for an empty table, and camped out with stacks of text looming over her.

Most of what she read revealed nothing new. Rinoa’s eyes scanned over stories she heard growing up, a few expanding upon the details, but nothing more. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, stashing another book to her return pile and tried a newspaper. The headlines screamed sensationalist blather in an attempt to garner readers and potential subscribers. Journalists placed what was spewed in her textbooks up on pedestals. Rinoa groaned and shoved all the newspapers away.

The sprawl of magazines she acquired were thanks to most of them showing a hit for Timber War when she searched in the directory. Most mentioned the word in one line for an interview about a Galbadian war veteran, only to follow with a boring man’s sap story. Several highlighted some details about Timber’s forest preservation before the war, though nothing after. The stack of magazines dwindled. Rinoa grimaced and held her disinterested face up with a loose fist. All of the information was taken with a grain of salt—where was this new information her teacher expected her to unearth?

One, final magazine rested on the bottom. Rinoa reached for it and paused. A photo of a forest on fire bled to the edges of the cover with a bold sans-serif title: _Timber Maniacs - vol. 1_.

The content seduced her. Unyielding passion overflowed from every written word, a far cry from the monotonous academic scribbles she was used to. This? This was anger and strength and hope mixed into one. No censorship, no sugarcoating. Nothing but raw honesty from the people who lived it.

“Excuse me, miss,” a librarian spoke next to her.

Rinoa perked up and blinked. The moon glistened through the dome above. No one else sat in the reading room.

“We’re closing up, miss,” she informed Rinoa.

“Oh!” She combed through every page of the magazine while time escaped her. Rinoa gathered her materials and rose to her feet. “Sorry about that! I’ll return these for holding and be on my way. Thanks again!”

That night, sleep never entertained her. Images exploded in her mind of the atrocities the people of Timber screamed about. While she hadn’t experienced the same horrors, the cry for freedom resonated close to Rinoa’s heart. And those people fought back with no regard to their actions; the G-army could drag them to prison if it meant letting the world know _their_ story.

Rinoa admired that unrelenting spirit.

She functioned on sheer adrenaline and coffee the following day. When the last bell chimed through the academy, Rinoa ran down the halls and streets to return to the library.

Her materials were there waiting for her when she approached the front desk. Riffling through them, Rinoa pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

“Is something wrong, miss?” the librarian asked.

“I can’t find the magazine I was reading the other night,” Rinoa muttered.

“What was it? I can search the system to see if we have extras or if a neighboring library has stock.”

Rinoa heaved a sigh of relief. “That would be perfect, actually. It was Timber Maniacs, volume—”

The older woman choked, perhaps on her saliva, and fluttered her eyes. “Excuse me?”

Rinoa hesitated. “Uh... Timber Maniacs? I was reading the first volume last night. It’s for a school project,” she rushed out at the end.

Those squinting eyes said enough.

“We don’t carry that here, miss.”

“But... are you sure? I thought I—”

“There must have been a fluke, miss; we _do not_ carry any issues of Timber Maniacs.”

Rinoa tumbled her thoughts about. “Okay... um, then do you possibly know where I could—”

“In case they didn’t teach it to you in school,” the woman pressed on while removing her glasses, as if to prove the seriousness of her words, “it’s banned in most of Galbadia, if not all of it. I’d advise you to find something else to entertain yourself with that isn’t anarchist propaganda.”

_Anarchist... what?!_

What Rinoa read was freedom of speech from the bleeding hearts longing for change. What was wrong with pleading for that when the system was broken?

“Now,” the librarian said with a fake smile, “is there anything else I can help you with, miss?”

Rinoa stared at the pile of books, newspapers, and magazine. Nothing but regurgitated nonsense sponsored by the Galbadian government.

“No, I’m all set.” Rinoa gave the stack a gentle push back. “I won’t be needing these. Best get them back on the shelves for someone else to find them.”

Mirroring the woman’s smile, Rinoa headed into the depths of the library. She ignored the towering bookshelves; in the back resided study rooms with computer access. The technology might have been outdated by a decade, but the network wasn’t censored. Not yet. Timber prided in its technology spreading media to the masses—there _had_ to be something pertaining to her interests.

After specifying her searches, the truth Rinoa yearned for unveiled before her. Rinoa gradually scrolled through rebellion zines and forums. She scooted her heels onto the edge of her seat and perched her chin upon her knees, eyes wide and lips ajar. As the blue glow of the monitor washed over her face, she long forgot of her assignment.


	9. Chapter 9

Again Fury questioned about the progress of her presentation. Again Rinoa offered the same, tired words, “Doing well.”

It was enough to satisfy him.

It was the truth, yet not. Rinoa didn’t speak of the newfound information she dug up from the depths of the network. Under the guise of the screen name _angelwing_ , Rinoa contacted Timber resistance members. They told her of the secret radio signals they tuned in to as a means of communication. They detailed the attacks on peaceful protests before torching homes, businesses, and finally the forest. They sent pictures of families and friends lost, ranging from toddlers to elders.

They revealed what part her father played in the Timber War.

Rinoa recalled the military functions she was forced to attend, even as a child. She loathed them. No one to play with and always needing to be on her best behavior. Every day was like that, though in those instances it came with a pretty dress and a fancy clip in her hair. The adults honored the memory of a veteran or those currently serving. Many praised their valiant efforts, but what of the victims to the military? Where were the memorials to the fierce and brave revolutionaries, who wished for nothing more than a peaceful life? They fought to keep that and paid for it in blood.

Fury helped expedite the process.

Tears swelled in her wide eyes, but she never pried them away from the monitor. She needed to know. If simple townsfolk were able to stand up against the military and witness the slaughter of their loved ones, then Rinoa could stomach the atrocities no grade school textbook bothered to mention.

She hitched her breath. Memories fired off in rapid succession. Fury loomed over her, barking orders to a mere child as if she were a soldier. Every quiet dinner, every night spent alone, every reminder that she was never good enough, every threat to rip away what made her happy.... Rinoa fluttered her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth.

History teachers from grade school to the prep academy echoed the same lies—that the Galbadian forces were war heroes putting an end to the insane terrorists of Timber. Every teacher repeated an identical explanation a hollow mantra: they didn’t know what was good for them or the people.

But maybe Timber was onto something. Whatever it was, it flourished like a brilliant sunrise within Rinoa.

 

* * *

 

A gentle snowfall graced Deling City. Rinoa counted the flakes instead of listening to the student presentations. Only two more hours of final exams before they were free for winter solstice break. Yawns and whispers crept through the classroom; the lack of overhead lights to favor the projector’s images didn’t help maintain focus. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.

“Rinoa Caraway,” Mr. Valenport called out.

She perked up and found him gesturing to the open space in the front of the classroom. One presentation left—her own. Rinoa lucked out with capturing the coveted spot of the final presentation in the class, despite her teacher's reminder that it also meant having to live up to previous successes. No matter when she presented, none of the students would care with their sleepy, bored faces.

It made no difference; Rinoa did her project for herself in the end.

Grabbing her note cards and slides, Rinoa rose and approached the front of the room. She tucked hair behind her ear while fussing with the old projector to fit all her slides. More yawns surfaced, accompanied by coughs.

“There we go,” Rinoa mumbled before straightening out and cleared her throat.

Two students had their eyes on her. Mr. Valenport fiddled with his watch. With a deep breath, Rinoa began.

“All of us know about the Timber War. It’s been integrated into our education since pre-school, in some cases.” Her eyes flicked back and forth from her note cards to her inattentive audience. “We were told stories equating to legends, of the brave men and women who protected us from radicals daring to destroy the very foundation we Galbadians know and love.” She licked her lips and narrowed her eyes. “But there are two sides of a coin and thus we only see one version of the story.”

Swiping the remote, Rinoa clicked it to reveal the first slide. Gasps washed through the room like a wave. Mr. Valenport’s jaw dropped. Rinoa tossed her head over her shoulder to eye the candid image taken by a fellow resistance member of seated protesters gunned down like animals.

“The people of Timber weren’t and still aren’t terrorists. The Galbadian army forced themselves onto these kind folk, deprived them of their land and humanity, and walked away as war heroes. It wasn’t a battle—it was a massacre against the people of Timber.”

Rinoa looked forward and held her breath. All eyes were on her, wide with either curiosity, disgust, or grief—she had their attention now.

A small smirk tugged at her lips. “ _This_ is the Timber War they never taught us in history books. This is what _truly_ happened.”

 

* * *

 

“Where the hell did you acquire those slides?!”

Mr. Valenport latched onto her arm and hauled her towards the wall while she attempted to exit the classroom. Rinoa shoved his arm away and met his livid eyes.

“I _researched_ them,” Rinoa said. “At the library.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shot back, his low growl meant to intimidate, but Rinoa never flinched. “What you showed in class was terrorist propaganda—”

“What I showed was the truth,” Rinoa replied, not afraid to speak loud and bold. “You told me to dig for more information and spin something new on this tired topic—”

“And be a Timber sympathizer?!”

Her eyes dropped from his momentarily, just enough to think over his words. “You know what?” Rinoa glared through him. “Maybe _I am_. Maybe I’m sick of people walking over those who can’t stand up from themselves. Maybe I don’t think innocent bystanders deserve to be _slaughtered_ for shits and giggles.”

Her clutched her forearm again, tighter than a vice. “Young _lady_ ,” he hissed, “you can explain all of this to the dean. This is grounds for _expulsion_. No academy _anywhere_ will admit you into their student body. You have _ruined_ your academic and military career!”

Eyes settled onto her while he escorted her elsewhere. His toxic words spewed out, yet Rinoa did little else than roll her eyes. After several sharp turns, the dean’s office lied at the end of the hallway. Her eyes caught onto something else. Rinoa skidded to the halt, even if it meant Mr. Valenport dragging her dead weight.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he demanded.

Rinoa wiggled in placed, thighs pressed together. “Can I at least use the bathroom beforehand?” She gestured to the restrooms. “I don’t know how long this _talk_ with the dean will take and I had like, three bottles of water before your class and I _really_ need to—”

“ _Fine_.” He relinquished his grasp of her. “You have two minutes!”

“Oh my goodness, _thank you_!” Rinoa bolted to the restroom hunched over.

Once through the door, she heaved out a breath and straightened her posture. Several senior girls stood by the propped open window smoking cigarettes. Their giggles died when Rinoa entered, each one harnessing a razor-sharp glare.

“Don’t mind me,” Rinoa said with a wave. “Just need to um... get through here—” She motioned between them. “—and we’ll be good to go—”

“ _Hey_!” one of them said, “we were here first, _junior_. Find your own window to blow smoke out of.”

Rinoa paused and blinked. “Seriously? That’s not what I’m here for. Give me a second, will you? Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Stepping between them, not caring if they hollered and whined, Rinoa tested the window. To her dismay, it didn’t budge more than two inches, thanks to some stubborn hinges. She eyed the massive screws holding it in place and grinned.

“The hell are you doing?!” a girl growled as Rinoa swung her backpack around.

“It’s in here somewhere,” Rinoa said, fishing through her pockets. “Aha!”

She yanked out a metal ruler and held it up like a prized possession. The others stared blankly while Rinoa perched on the window sill.

“Finally get to put something from Geometry class to use,” she said, loosening the screws with the ruler.

The screws dropped to the floor with distinct clinks. The window flew open and smashed into the outside wall. A winter breeze eased in.

Rinoa clapped her hands clean. “There you go. More room to blow your smoke out of.”

“W-why are you doing this?!”

“Need to make sure all those hours in the basic training sessions were worth hauling ass for.”

With her feet propped up on the window sill, Rinoa vaulted out of the bathroom and to the nearby lamppost. She cursed beneath her breath—the damn metal froze straight through her. But she ignored the climate and the few eyes locked on her; she slid down the post as best as she could, hissing at the biting sensation rubbing between her bare thighs. Once her feet touched the pavement, she smoothed her skirt out, brushed hair out of her eyes, and ran without ever looking back.

 

* * *

 

This wasn’t a part of her plan. In hindsight, Rinoa prepared her escape for some time within the next two weeks. Fury buried himself in end of the year bureaucratic garbage, enough to arrive after dinner every night like clockwork. Today was no different; her plans were merely expedited.

She sprinted the entire way home, out of breath upon reaching the gates. The mansion was no haven, though; she needed to be in and out before the attendants noticed something amiss.

Rushing up the stairs, Rinoa tore her backpack off to dump out its contents. _Won_ _’t be needing this anymore._ Her bedroom went from military-grade clean to a disaster in seconds. Rinoa tore it apart to pick only the essentials. She combed her closet for practical outfits, immediately stripping her academy uniform for jeans, black combat boots, a black tank top, her thickest, powder blue hoodie, and matching white mittens, earmuffs, and scarf. She stuffed her backpack and a suitcase with what she couldn’t part with from her favorite Tonberry plushie to her old sketchbooks still hidden from Fury.

She paused when she stumbled upon the closed containers buried in the back of her closet. Julia’s keepsakes resided there. Rinoa longed to bring all of it with her, but after a shaky breath, she slammed the closet shut.

Her eyes fell upon the last item yet to be stowed away: her mother’s jewelry box. Rinoa cracked it open and scanned over the precious jewels and metals once worn by Julia. All saved for a special occasion, or so Rinoa convinced herself. Sitting amongst all the elaborate pieces was a simple, silver band. Rinoa scooped it up and held it to the light.

“ _This is for you,_ ” Fury once said. “ _It belonged to your mother; she wanted you to have it._ ”

The weight of those words didn’t register when she was a child, let alone several months after Julia’s funeral. He lectured her to take good care of it and not treat it like a toy, thus Rinoa hid it away to appease him.

“ _Maybe one day,_ ” Fury had said, closing Rinoa’s bitty hands over the pristine metal, “ _it will be_ your _wedding ring._ ”

Maybe. Who knew what the future would hold, but Rinoa knew what it _wouldn_ _’t_ hold.

Slipping the band on a spare, silver chain, she secured it around her neck, tucked the closed jewelry box under her arm, gathered her belongings, and left.


	10. Chapter 10

“What did you do, kid, rob a jewelry store?”

Rinoa held her tongue, rolling on the balls of her feet and maintaining eye contact. The man behind the counter of the hole-in-the-wall pawn shop huffed. Every item from the jewelry box splayed out before him, at least triple the quantity of what the meager display case held. Most were in impeccable shape and worn seldom. Considering Fury’s former habit of spoiling Julia with material gifts, Rinoa didn’t doubt a small handful of that pile was worth more than everything in the store.

A part of Rinoa wished to scoop all of it back into the jewelry box. With an inhale, she reframed her thoughts—this was Julia funding her escape.

The man grumbled something to himself and returned to appraising Rinoa’s wares. Not a word was exchanged. Customers came and went, each one with another colorful comment about the heap of riches on the counter. Rinoa rubbed her arm and waited.

“Alright, kid.” The man braced his hands along the countertop. “Seven hundred and fifty-five thousand gil for all of it.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, only to snap it closed in an instant. _That_ would pay for more than taxi fare and a train ticket. As meager spending money, that amount was worthy of splurging on a new wardrobe. But it wasn’t spending money; this was survival.

_Easily used in a few months,_ she thought, scrunching her face. _Maybe longer if I_ _’m smart. There won’t be any first-class seats or five-star hotel rooms._ Rinoa eased her nerves with another deep breath. _And that_ _’s okay, because it won’t be living in the mansion._

The thought did cross her mind that maybe this seedy guy in the shady section of Deling City would resell his new merchandise at quadruple the price. Julia didn’t deserve that. People could swipe the renowned musician’s jewels for a song, an utter disrespect to the woman Rinoa loved more than anything. She clung to the one piece of jewelry she couldn’t part with, fiddled with the band and cast her eyes elsewhere.

There was no turning back now; she’d figure out the rest along the way. She had to.

“Yeah,” Rinoa said with a nod, “that’s great.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’ll take it. Or… yeah, whatever.”

The man laughed and smirked. “Let me grab your gil for you.”

 

* * *

 

Snow danced through Deling City. Rinoa rested her temple on the passenger side window of the taxi. The cityscape disappeared—everything she knew and loved. Urban architecture gave way to open fields. It was still familiar, even if she hadn’t walked this path in over a decade. One last pit stop before venturing elsewhere.

Rinoa sighed; hopefully it wouldn’t be the last visit ever. Maybe there would be another opportunity down the road. Time would tell. Until then, Rinoa’s hands fidgeted in her lap while she awaited her destination.

“Here we are,” the driver announced after several moments, peering back to her. “If you want to make your train on time, you best be quick. About ten minutes maximum, you hear?”

She nodded. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

Tossing her hood over her head, Rinoa slipped out of the taxi and out into the open, winter air. A dense layer of snow coated the grass and trees alike. Several lampposts on the outskirts of the premise lit a dim trail in the evening and nothing more. She paused and relished the atmosphere—even the library was never this quiet.

She pushed past the gate with minimal effort and ran. Snow crunched beneath her combat boots. Digging up memories she failed to forget, Rinoa mapped out her path. Or thought she had. Had it been a sunny day, perhaps it would have been easier. She recalled an empty patch of land, but the cemetery filled out tremendously over the years. A curse fluttered past her shivering lips. Her brown eyes flicked over each tombstone. Panic hollowed out her chest with the fear that she’d waste all her precious time searching for what could not be found.

And spinning in place, she came to a standstill and found it.

At the edge of the cemetery was a grave of polished marble with engraved roses and music notes. The flowers once planted there were long dead from winter’s chill, but the area was maintained and well-kept—nothing short of perfection. Fury’s work, no doubt. At least he did some good in paying a caretaker to tend a grave no one visited. Or perhaps many visited and Fury ordered all gifts from mourning fans to be trashed.

Rinoa perished the thought and dropped to her knees. Breathing warmth into her cupped hand, she brushed off the dusting of snow covering her mother’s name.

She stared for what felt like forever. Gentle breezes passed by, yet Rinoa never flinched. Thoughts ebbed and flowed through her. She chuckled and rubbed her arm.

“Hey, Mom,” she finally said, both sadness and exhaustion staining her tongue. “It’s been a while, huh? I’ve been busy with school, so I couldn’t come by as often as I wanted. But... I won’t be coming back any time soon. Kind of makes this my last trip, unless something works out for me.”

She jumped to her feet and paced, both to warm herself up and distract herself from the anxiety. “Things have been tough since you left,” she continued, eyes glued to her imaginary path. “I mean, you know that. Nothing new, right? I really wish you were here. Maybe Dad would be in a better place, but right now?” Rinoa paused in her movements. “I can’t handle being under his control. I don’t think you would allow his behavior; you’d be appalled. I know I have been.

“Which is why,” she said while pivoting on her heels to face Julia’s tomb, “I’ve decided... I need to leave. For good. Yeah, I’m giving up on my ‘hopes and dreams’—” She lifted her hands to make air quotes in her mittens. “—but they always felt like Dad’s more so than mine. I don’t want to join the military. I don’t want to make other people suffer just for some made-up, greater cause. I don’t want to be another face in the crowd. I want to make people smile. I want to connect with others. I want to make a difference. I’m not sure if I need to pursue art or something else... but whatever it is, I want to leave my mark in this world. And it’s certainly not going to be while my wings are bound and clipped.”

Rinoa shuffled her feet along the snow. She pawed at the ring dangling from the chain and closed a loose fist around it. “You’d approve of me doing this, right? You’d want me happy, to be myself. I can’t really remember the last time I was happy.” She paused, then laughed. “Well, that might be a lie. There _was_ this boy that kept me happy over summer, but I mean making myself happy and not relying on someone else. And that’s why I need to leave—so I can be happy and find my purpose in this world. It’s definitely not going to be under Dad’s roof with the whole military thing. I never want to be like him. I’m better than that.

“I want….” She blinked away the urge to cry. “I want to be like you. You were always graceful and articulate. Me? I feel like I’m fumbling my way through this. If I was half as brilliant as you were, I wouldn’t be here rambling.” Rinoa’s eyes drifted to the skies. The moon and stars had to be somewhere past the snow. “I like to think you’re out there watching over me, though I’d give for anything to hug you right now. Hopefully I’m not disappointing you. None of this is going to be easy, but I think I can handle that. It’s for my freedom and happiness.”

She released her hold on the ring, both hands clasped behind her back and she leaned forward with a soft smile. “I should be going, Mom. Wish me luck?” Bouncing back to standing, Rinoa waved to the grave and turned away. “I love you. Don’t forget that.”

 

* * *

 

A chime sounded through the train. Rinoa forced her eyes open, missing the announcement altogether. The seats lacked comfort, but her body demanded sleep. What else was there to do on a train ride which lasted over fourteen hours? Few people boarded the train outbound to Timber; most stayed within the city’s limits for the holidays. To urban dwellers, the endless stretch of forests was a wasteland. To Rinoa, she found comfort—she was free.

Yawning, she sat up and peered out the window. Snow covered the tops of evergreens along with bare oaks and maples hibernating for winter. Beyond the forest was the sight of satellite dishes inching closer. She grinned.

Another chime sounded through the compartments. Rinoa was awake enough to discern the announcement: _next stop - North Station. Destination: Timber._ Rinoa slipped on her backpack and collected her suitcase to depart. By the time she was situated, the train crawled to a stop.

Rinoa bounced off of the train and froze. No buildings crowded the skies. The trees dared to stand taller than most structures in Deling City. Streets meandered everywhere instead of formatted into neat, identical grids. The air was clean and crisp. There were birds calling in the distance. _Birds_. Actual _birds_. It was surreal. No wonder people looked upon this land and deemed it as home. Such foreign sights should have stirred anxiety, but Rinoa never ceased smiling.

She removed her mittens and earmuffs while wandering the town; the forest blocked the wind and made winter far more bearable. She passed by quaint shops which would never survive in Deling City. The townsfolk managed with the bare essentials and relished life all the same. Several of those locals watched her as she trekked down the streets with no destination in sight. Maybe they glanced at her and saw an obvious city girl—a Deling City one, at that—who was out of her element.

Doubt shot through her. She walked through a town which wasn’t hers to call her own. She didn’t fight in the wars or start any rebellions. The Galbadian forces didn’t slaughter her loved ones. But she was no stranger to oppression. Rinoa could help; she _wanted_ to. She couldn’t be silent anymore.

And there was only one way to find out if this would work.

A playful bark jolted Rinoa back to reality. She paused at the street corner to find a black, white, and cream puppy lying outside the door of a bakery. No leash or collar or even an owner in sight.

“Hey, puppy,” Rinoa said in a sing-song manner, “what are you doing outside?” She bent down to scritch behind the dog’s ear, swearing it smiled back at her. “You staying warm out here, at least?” The low boof left her giggling. “Well, alright. I guess that’s why you got all that fur on you.”

With a sigh, she stood upright and swept her bangs out of her eyes. Something decadent marked the air and wafted by Rinoa. Her eyes settled on the hand-carved sign displayed outside the bakery: The Moogly Woogly. After her stomach twisted and growled, Rinoa entered the building.

A tiny bell sounded her entrance as the wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Locals chatted over mugs of mulled cider and hot chocolate while a single guitarist played in a corner. Rinoa marveled at the display case stuffed with pastries, cookies, and dessert breads.

“Hey there, deary!” a middle-aged woman called out from behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

Rinoa blinked. “Gee, I wish I knew.”

“Well, the soup’s still hot if you want to take off the chill, but we’re all out of crusty bread for the day. Lunch rush wiped me out of that an hour ago.”

“Soup sounds good,” Rinoa said, mirroring the woman’s smile. “And um… I guess one of these?” She pointed at the scones. “No, make that two.”

The other woman was quick to swipe them up to present on a plate. “You want some hot chocolate with that, deary?”

“Um, do you have any coffee?”

The woman bellowed with laughter. “The day I run out of that is the day those damn G-army idiots pry it out of my own hands! Hey, Tilia!” She peered down the counter and into the kitchen, where another woman poked out. “Do we have any coffee?!”

More laughter exploded from the kitchen. Rinoa fidgeted and averted her gaze.

“How about this, deary—I’ll make it a mocha for you.” She winked at Rinoa. “Best of both worlds.”

To that, Rinoa perked up. “Oh wow, that’s even better!”

As Rinoa fished out her gil, the woman punched in the total at the cash register and cocked her head. “How long you been in Timber, deary?”

Stale amusement bubbled out of Rinoa. “Not long enough, that’s for sure.” She paused. “It’s like I have a neon sign following me around, isn’t it?”

“Eh, it’s flickering on and off, but don’t worry about it. That city sheen will rub off on you before you know it.”

“I hope so.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “Hey, do you happen to know where Back Bay Station is?”

“Been on back towards the bay for as long as I’ve been here.” She tilted her head. “Back Bay’s been shut down for about five years now. You’re not going to find any trains running out of there, deary.”

“I know,” Rinoa confirmed with a nod.

The woman bore a crooked grin. “Do you, now?”

Standing tall, Rinoa lifted her chin. “Sure do.”

With a warm chuckle, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Take a right out of the shop, go eleven blocks down, hang a left, and kitty-corner to the liquor store is Back Bay Station. But if you walk by a chocobo crossing sign, you’ve gone too far.”

“Perfect! Thanks a ton!”

She settled down in an open table by the window upon gathering her lunch. Hearty vegetable soup and peppermint mocha topped with whipped cream warmed Rinoa down to her toes. Nothing fancy, but she couldn’t deny the fresh, homemade quality in her meal. Whoever made her food and drink did so out of love, because they _wanted_ to. She eyed the people both inside and outside going about their lives, all with smiles. How could anyone look at the Timber civilians and deem them worthy of slaughter? A fierce fire roared in her heart; there would be an end to this injustice.

As Rinoa munched on her cranberry scones, she peered out the frosty window. The same dog stayed by the door, perking up at each new person passing by. Everyone ignored the dog. Those floppy ears fell and so did that adorable face. Concern carved into Rinoa’s features.

“Excuse me?” she asked the woman behind the counter after finishing lunch.

The woman turned away from cleaning the counter to flash a smile. “Back again, deary? Need something for the road?”

“Well, now that you mentioned it, but uh….” Rinoa gestured to the door. “Does that dog outside belong to someone in here?”

“Hmm? Which one is out there today?” She leaned over the counter to catch a glimpse out the window. “Ah, she’s back again. Been about five weeks now, I think.”

“She… doesn’t have an owner?”

“It’s not just the children who lose their families in this neck of the woods. Plenty of homes have been abandoned with the poor things left inside. Blame those G-army bastards, though. They’re the ones who don’t have the heart to let the fluffers out.”

Her eyebrows tented and fists clenched. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it. Wouldn’t mind locking some of those military types up like that. See how they like it.” She huffed and rolled her eyes. “But not to worry. We all look out for each other, even the animals. They may not have a family to go home to, but we don’t let our kind suffer on the streets.”

Rinoa’s eyes fell to the display case once more. Upon settling on a particular item, she smiled. “Can I get one of these to go?”

Following the path Rinoa pointed towards, the woman paused and sighed. “You sure you want to do that, deary? I promise you the animals are well-fed, even if they roam the streets. Wouldn’t be surprised if that pup out there has ten different homes she visits to sniff for scraps left out for her and the others. Give her that and she might think you’re her new mommy. Not worth the hassle, if you ask me.”

“I think I can handle it,” Rinoa said with a nod. “It’s the least I can do to help, anyways.”

A smile once more graced the woman’s face. “Alright, but don’t come running back to me to complain when your new friend won’t leave you alone.”

She swiped the massive, peanut butter dog treat shaped like a chocobo. Rinoa traded gil for the item and tucked it into her hoodie’s front pouch. After thanking the woman again, she headed for the door, only to stop and dart back to the counter.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” She jutted a hand out. “I’m Rinoa, by the way.”

After a pause, the woman laughed. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.” She accepted Rinoa’s hand for a firm shake. “Name’s Banessa. Pleasure meeting you, deary.”

“Pleasure is all mine. Besides, you’re probably going to be seeing a lot more of me, so… yeah, that’s me.”

“I think I can get used to that, so long as you don’t start any trouble.”

“Eh.” Rinoa released her hand and shrugged. “No promises.”

More laughter teased Banessa’s lips wider. “Girl after my own heart! I like you already, Rinoa. You at least stay safe out there, alright?”

Rinoa waved goodbye and pushed past the door. A wall of cold slammed into her upon exiting the bakery, yet did little to hinder her excitement. She hummed to herself and approached the dog still lounging outside.

“Hey, girl! I got something for you.” Rinoa plucked out the chocobo treat and wiggled it. The dog bounced to her feet with wide eyes. “Hope you like peanut butter. Here you go!”

The dog snatched the treat from Rinoa’s hand to gobble it up. Smiling, Rinoa leaned down to pet the dog’s head.

“Thanks for sitting outside here. I wouldn’t have checked it out if it wasn’t for you. Well, enjoy your treat!”

Rinoa stood upright and headed off. Banessa’s directions echoed in her mind as did her warning to be safe. Those words didn’t register with Rinoa until she crossed paths with Galbadian soldiers several blocks down. She gasped and slowed her pace while they marched by without looking, lost in their own conversation to tide over the dull patrol route. A sigh of relief rushed out of Rinoa.

_That could have been me,_ Rinoa mused, watching the soldiers until they turned a corner. _I won_ _’t ever let that be my fate_.

Coming to a standstill, Rinoa glanced at her surroundings. _Shit, did I miss a turn? It was a left after seven blocks, right? Or was it eight?_ Her frantic eyes fell to her feet as she kicked the snow. _Wow, how am I ever supposed to help if I can_ _’t navigate my way around this place?_

A bark grabbed her attention. Rinoa fluttered her eyes and glanced behind her; a familiar, smiling face trotted in her footsteps.

“Hey, girl,” Rinoa said, “fancy meeting you here again.” The dog circled her and sniffed at her pockets. “Nope! No more treats!” Rinoa held empty hands to the dog. “See? All gone! But I’m glad you liked that yummy chocobo snack! I wish I could afford to get you more, but uh….” Rinoa giggled at herself. “Guess Banessa was right about you, after all. Serves me right.”

Dropping to the dog’s level, Rinoa lifted a finger. “That’s okay, though. I don’t mind you following me around. I’m new here and could use the company, even if it’s the furry kind. Besides, I don’t really have a home and neither do you… so we’re kind of the same, you and I. What do you say? Want to stick around while I get myself more lost than I already am?”

The dog barked and licked Rinoa’s chin. She scrunched up her face and laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” After ruffling the top of the dog’s head, she rose to standing and clapped her hands. “And I guess I should call you something other than girl or puppy. I’d feel bad about not giving you a name. Hmm, let’s see….” Rinoa crossed an arm and perched a loose fist against her cheek. The dog cocked her head. “Well, I went by _angelwing_ on the message boards, so how about something related to that? Like, uh… Angelissi?” The dog looked at her. “No? Okay, um… Angelica?” Nothing. “Yeah, I wasn’t big on that one either. How about just Angel? Um, Angela? Angelo—”

A low boof startled Rinoa.

“Angelo, huh?” Once more the dog boofed, paws perched on Rinoa’s chest to lick her face. She giggled and hugged her new friend. “Alright, I get the picture! Angelo it is!” With a ruffle of Angelo’s ears, she booped noses with the dog. “You and me, Angelo. I got your back and you got mine, right? That’s what friends do.”

She resumed her meandering with Angelo close beside her. Rinoa walked in what felt like circles as she searched for anything that would lead her in the correct direction. Dread plagued her heart and turned her lips downwards—maybe there wasn’t a Back Bay Station. Maybe it was some trick the locals played on the tourists.

Angelo barked and brushed by her. Rinoa witnessed the dog heading off down a vacant street.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Rinoa held onto her backpack’s straps and suitcase handle to run after her in the snow. “Angelo, wait up!”

Down several more blocks, Rinoa caught up with Angelo. She gulped down raw, frozen air while Angelo looked back and forth between her and what lied before them. Rinoa paused and smiled. Nothing docked in the barren, vandalized train station—except for a single, yellow train.

“Good girl,” Rinoa murmured before heading forward.

Occasional bursts of laughter sounded on the opposite side. Rinoa approached with caution as she circled the locomotive. A group huddled together by the train, most of them adults with a handful closer to her age. Angelo led the way, eager to interact with the new people.

_I can do this,_ Rinoa reminded herself. _I can help. With my background and knowledge, I_ _’d be useful. This isn’t a waste of time._ Her breath hitched. _I_ _’m not a waste of time._

Her feet moved on their own. As she neared the group, their conversation died out. Their sights, however, flicked all to one person within the group, who continued to stare at Rinoa as if a Marlboro was crawling their way.

“C-can I help you, miss?” he ended up asking.

“Actually,” Rinoa said as a matter of fact, “I was wondering the same for you.”

Whispers passed from ear to ear while the man she addressed blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Help.” She bounced on her feet. “I was told that I could help.” Not a word. “Um, I’m _angelwing_.”

More confused expressions flooded the group, some of them scoffing and trading snark with one another.

“I-I’m sorry, miss, but you must have this all wrong.” The man rubbed the back of his neck, unable to maintain eye contact with her. “We’re not here looking for help.”

He turned his back to her and returned to his group. They murmured to one another while Rinoa rubbed her arm. _I didn_ _’t come all this way just to be rejected in seconds._

Then she remembered.

“Oh!” She marveled at the trees swaying with the incoming wind. “The forests of Timber sure have changed!”

Pushing hair out of her face, she returned her sights to the group. The one who addressed her initially peered back in silence. They all did.

And she smiled the whole time. “But the Owls are still around.”

Nothing but the wind rustled between them. The group exchanged looks. Rinoa rooted her feet into the ground and maintained eye contact. Once more, all eyes fell onto the same man. He crept up to Rinoa, beyond timid, yet cleared his throat.

“How do you know that?” he asked her.

Rinoa shrugged. “Like I said. I want to help.”

His eyes flicked over her. “Where are you from, miss? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face around here.”

“You haven’t. Just got here.”

He raised his eyebrows and dared to approach her further. “Y-you got a lot of explaining to do if you show up unannounced like that and just act like you’re one of us.”

One of the guys perched on top of the train laughed. “I like her! Girl’s got balls!”

“More than what you got!” another jumped in on the teasing.

Rinoa bit back a grin.

“Hey!” The man before her spun around to flip them off. The whole group died of laughter. “Shut up! We don’t know if we can trust her!”

“You know,” another piped up, “I think I heard about one of the Foxes talking about a girl on a message board curious about the Forest.”

“Yeah, a Hawk mentioned she wanted to do more than sit quietly.” The older woman gestured to Rinoa with her chin. “This is far more activism than any city dweller has accomplished in the past decade. I doubt she’s a spy.”

“Let’s hear what the girl has to say,” another said.

“Yeah, give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?”

The man in front of her nodded. “Probably that she dies and it’s one less mouth to feed.”

“I promise I won’t be a burden,” Rinoa offered. “I can hold my own. Couple years in military prep academy can’t hurt, right?”

The older woman grinned. “Yup, she’s the one. I like her already. Be nice to her, Zone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, facing Rinoa once more. “Twist my arm about it.” He winced momentarily as his steps stuttered. Clutching his side, Zone forced himself to stand straight and gaze deep into Rinoa’s eyes. “D-do you have a name, miss?”

She held a breath. Her fingers latched onto the silver ring poking out from the layers of her hoodie. The breath passed through her, she released the ring, and beamed with a smile.

“Rinoa Heartilly.”


End file.
